Lonely Tylenol
by sajere1
Summary: In which Leo's a thief, Frank is in charge, Nico has PTSD, Hazel's struggling through college, Piper's a spy, Jason's a politician, Percy and Annabeth are getting married, Reyna's ready to retire, Meg shouldn't exist, Antoine's a freak of nature, and it's a horrible time for Rey to have a sexuality crisis. THIS IS A FINISHED NOVEL AND I'M EXCITED
1. Let's Kill Tonight

I: Rey

let's kill tonight

Morning. Rain, pattering against the ceiling – unfortunate, that our dorm's on the top floor. A rustling of the covers. A groggy sigh.

"It's four in the morning."

"It is way too early for me to put up with your complaining."

Slipping into loose shorts and a t-shirt. A hand combing through dark hair, minus the mirror. Lacing up tennis shoes.

"It's raining outside."

"If I melt, you can have my X-Box."

"That's my X-Box."

"After I melt, it is."

A jacket zipped. Granola bars, stuffed in my pockets. A cell phone lighting up. An iPod powered on.

"Classes start at eight."

"It's not gonna take me all day to run a few miles, _dios mio_."

An open door.

"No blood this time."

Silence.

Like always.

I love to run.

I love the way my feet pound on the ground, a steady rhythm that neither fades nor increases. I love the feeling of making progress, even if Point A and Point B are technically only a few feet apart from one another and I'm just running in circles. I love the head rush that I get every time. I love the ache in my legs and the labor of my breath and the pain that is most definitely real and here and now. I love the here. I love the present. I love _existence._

I run past the Hilshire Dorm, which 1. is a girl's dorm that's very inappropriately named because 2. the shire is a place in J.R. Tolkein's _Lord of the Rings_, which 3. no girl at Abattoir Private School is intelligent enough to so much as look at, so 4. it should be the name of the boy's dorm instead, because 5. the boy's dorm is named Cady Heron Hall, which 6. is way, _way_ more inappropriate. Next to the girls' dorm is a stop sign, and past that nothing for eight miles.

I run halfway down and then turn back around when I see the gnarled weeping willow on the four mile mark. I measured out the distances on the road back when I started to attend school here – over a year ago, now that I think about it – and if they're inaccurate, then there's no one to tell me so. I've memorized the grooves and scenery and the smells in the autumn rain.

The dead dog is new, though.

+x+

My name is Rey Cabrera and there are a few things you should know about me.

1. I like lists. Top tens, world records, country names, whatever. I don't know why. It's probably because 2. I like having control over things, only 3. I rarely do because I'm a sixteen-year-old whose parents aren't even _ciudadandos del Estados Unidos_. Speaking of my parents, they are 4. currently living somewhere in Chihuahua, Mexico, only 5. I'm not allowed to have any contact with them because 6. they were illegals and I'm a citizen and they officially gave up rights when they decided to leave me here in hope that I'd have a better life than I would with them. 7. This hasn't worked very well, because 8. I see monsters and 9. I also sometimes see the future.

When I say 'see the future', I don't mean that I can map out anyone's life ever; that would be too much power – I'd go insane. Occasionally, though, I get flashes. For example, I am 100% certain that Antoine is going to eat eggs for breakfast in exactly two days' time, and I'm also 100% certain that we will be separated but then meet again and this time there will be a girl with us. (I am not sure how this makes me feel.) The thing about the future, though, is that it's very volatile – it can change on a dime, so I can't get anything too far ahead because it's too whimsical, too unclear; I can only get things that will happen relatively soon.

I can't see anything related to myself, either. I think it's more to keep me safe than anything else, because knowing your future is never a good thing; you'll want to alter it to suit your needs and that never works. But the longer I spend with someone, the more I know about them.

And I think that is a great way for me to lead you into a list about Antoine, because he's kind of an asshole and you never want to meet assholes without some preparation beforehand.

Antoine is 1. my best friend in the entire world, and he has been since he was eight years old when 2. he ran away from his foster home and we met in an alleyway. 3. Technically speaking, he's half-French, but 4. he's never met either of his parents so 5. his accent is totally fake and not at all attractive. 6. He is a pretty average looking, despite the fact that 7. he has heterochromatic eyes, which means that they're different colors and 8. he uses them to creep people out and it always works. 9. I happen to be sexually attracted to him, which is bad because 10. Antoine is the only fake Frenchman who is completely straight. Also, 11. he drinks coffee black. I don't know why. He just _does._

For the moment, I think that's all you need to know. There are other things, but…I'm not ready to talk about them. I'm barely ready to talk about some of the things I've already mentioned.

And just trust me on this one: some things are meant to be secrets.

+x+

The dog smells like _mierda_.

I wrinkle my nose at it even as I lean down to get a closer look. It's pretty clearly dead, from the way its intestines are strewn across the nearby ditch, but I don't see how – no hands could've torn it open like that, and I don't see any weapons nearby. I take a moment to give the forest a paranoid look, but Wynne, Arkansas isn't exactly crawling with large animals, especially not any with claws. I hesitate. _Context clues_, I think, but there's nothing to help me and I'm no detective.

According to my phone, I have exactly twenty minutes to get back and I'm still a mile and a half away. I snap a quick picture on the cell, stuff it in my pocket, hop over the decaying animal and continue my jog back.

Antoine's waiting with our books and a half-chilled omelet; I slow and take it gratefully, swallowing a good chunk almost automatically. "Geez, I might've vanted zat," he grumbles as I pop an earbud out.

"I'll be honest, I don't actually give a shit." I practically attack my breakfast, polishing it off within a few minutes as he watches with morbid curiosity. "Isn't it a little early for the faux French getup?"

"You're no fun," he pouts, but he drops the accent anyway as we start to walk to first class. Like I said, Antoine's pretty average-looking – sandy brown hair, a head or so taller than me, one eye blue and one eye brown, tan complexion and low cheekbones. I spend a disproportionate amount of time memorizing everything about his appearance, enough that I have to look away with a red face even now, with his eyes burning curiously into my neck.

He doesn't push it, though. Instead he changes the subject. "So I got a new rap started this morning," he tells me, dumping both the books in my hands so that he can twine his fingers behind his head. His tone is casual enough, but his eyes flicker to the floor and stay there. "Couldn't get back to sleep after your early-bird thing. Again."

"Sorry," I say apathetically. "What's the new rap about?"

And his eyes _light up_, like it's his entire purpose in life to tell me about his newest rap and if he doesn't do it he will absolutely die. Have you ever watched someone talk about something they're so passionate about they do it daily? Ever talk to an author about writing, or an artist about their art? If you haven't, you need to. It's eye-opening. It's _beautiful._

_He's_ beautiful.

And it's moments like this that I can see it and it hurts and we need to get off that track ASAP. I've seen some of Antoine's future. I definitely don't want to get romantically involved.

He talks for so long that I forget completely about the dog, but I'm fascinated anyway and when he stops, uncertainty painted on his face, I urge him to go on. I catch a glimpse of us in the glass door that's the entrance to the school – Antoine practically glowing and looking gorgeous, and me next to him, black hair, brown eyes, too short and painfully unnoticeable. I blend into crowds often. Antoine says it's my best quality. (He also tells me I'm the 'short and angry' type, which I don't believe, so don't take everything he says to heart.)

"So I've talked for long enough," he cuts himself off for the fourth time. "Any news on the running front?"

"Nothing much." I think for a moment and then it comes back. "There was a dead dog."

"_What?_"

I show him the picture and explain what I saw. He gapes for a moment and then sucks in a breath. "That – "

"Sucks, I know," I sigh, shrugging closer into my shirt as a pre-autumn chill settles.

"No, man, you gotta stop being so pessimistic. That's a _mystery!_" he grins, rubbing his hands together.

I look at him skeptically as we enter the school. "Alright, Sherlock, so what do we do now?"

He doesn't get the chance to respond; we both stop short at the same time, frozen like criminals caught in the act. He sniffs at the air, nose wrinkling, while my eyes glaze over and I scope the room out mentally. "Monster?" I ask.

"Demigod." His nose scrunches up. "Weird one, though. Smells…deader. Can you tell who it is? I can never hone in."

I search the room studiously – if he hasn't picked up his French accent again by now, something seriously dangerous is nearby. It only takes me a few moments before I see her – long brown hair and dark green eyes. I've never seen her before, but she's talking to a gaggle of girls as if they've been best friends forever. She's pretty, in a childishly round-faced sort of way, but something about her is dark and everything about her screams 'run while you can'.

"Her," I say, pointing to a girl I've seen in my visions eight thousand times – a girl whose destiny is so intertwined with Antoine's (and mine), I've actually learned her name from what I've seen. "Meg."

His entire face scrunches up, as if he's allergic to the name. "Should we confront her?" he asks tersely, prepared for whatever order I give. We've only run across a demigod once before, and they didn't seem to noticed us, distracted though they were with fighting the minotaur (and losing).

I open my mouth to respond, but before I can the glass doors behind us shatter; shards fly inwards and impale themselves in arms and legs. There is a moment of shocked silence before somebody screams and then there is movement everywhere, people scattering to escape something – and I turn to find her staring me straight in the face.

The first thing I notice is that she's quite possibly the sexiest woman I've ever seen in my life, as if she's a model who's walked straight out of the photoshop and into the real world. Her dress is tight and revealing, and her make-up is flawless.

Also, her hair's on fire.

I stumble backwards, and Antoine manages to catch me before I fall; I can hear him fumbling for a weapon and cursing himself for leaving his gun back at the dorm. "Um." My brain is short-circuiting. "Um. I. _Que_?"

She gives me a grin that's halfway between delighted and pained. "Hello, mortal," she purrs. "How are you?"

I gape for a moment before grabbing Antoine's sleeve, turning, and sprinting. "If you don't have a weapon," I yell at the girl – Meg – "I suggest you _run._"

She shakes herself out of her reverie, gives us a cursory glance, and then gestures for us to come closer. I hesitate skeptically – I've just _met _her, why would I _trust_ her? – but Antoine, ever the optimist, drags me over anyways. She flips something open.

She has a switchblade. She has a switchblade that is clearly made of something that is not regular metal. _Why_ is that lady not attacking us yet?

There's a crashing sound and I turn.

On this back of the most beautiful monster I've ever seen is a curly-haired man who's piggy-back riding her like it's a rodeo. He gives us a pained grin and a thumbs up. "Got it under control!" he calls. "Get to class!"

After taking a moment to realize that yes, this guy is just that stupid, I turn back to the girl and resign myself to trusting her. "How many of those you got?"

"Just two." She thrusts one into my hand and almost impales me in the process; she offers the second one to Antoine, but he just shakes his head. He has his own ways of protecting himself. She shrugs. "Suit yourself. Not on my conscience if you die."

"Everyone's a critic," he grumbles. "Alright. Game plan?"

"Wing it," I say.

"I sure hope you're stronger than you look," she tells us.

Antoine grins and gives us some jazz hands. "Let's give 'er hell."

And with that, we charge.

+x+

_may your feet serve you well and the rest be sent to hell  
where they always have belonged – cold hearts brew colder songs  
they will play us out to a song of pure romance  
stomp your feet and clap your hands_

_**lets kill tonight**_

+x+

**authors note**

so you remember that thing that happened where I wasn't dead

yeah that's still happening

aND IM WRITING A NOVEL WHAT WOW AMAZING

so yes, this will be updating frequently throughout November, and by frequently I mean either every day or every other day. were doing this man. were making this happen.

I understand that im probably going to face a lot of criticism/lack of readers for adding three original characters, but I like to think theyre vaguely interesting so when you tell me whats wrong with them please be constructive instead of "OMGZ EVERYTHING ABOUT THEM SUX" please?


	2. The Only Difference

II: Rey

The Only Difference Between Martyrdom and Suicide is Press Coverage

Things start to go wrong the moment we start to move.

It's been a while since Antoine or I have fought, and I've never fought with a switchblade or even a knife before, so neither of us is very well prepared; we've lost touch with each other's fighting styles and end up bumping into each other a lot. Neither of us have ever even (technically) _seen_ the girl before today, so I almost trip over her before we even get started. I just barely haul myself out of the way in time. Plus, the guy on the lady's back is still trying to shout reassurances even while he dives in and out of the flame multiple times, each time without a single burn. Whatever he's doing, there's no way it can last for much longer, and his yelling at us to get to class is definitely not helping our focus.

When the three of us finally fall away from each other with meaningful glances, Antoine dives for her knees while I stab at her head; I barely avoid shanking the curly-haired guy and Antoine misses them both completely, accidentally knocking a charging Meg back against the floor. The woman shrieks with laughter and does a little twirl. "You can't catch me," she laughs. I take a moment to mentally commend her for looking fabulous despite the fighting.

"Who are you?" I demand, unwilling to attack again for fear of hurting the guy but unwilling to back away in case she goes for Antoine and Meg, who are still climbing off the floor. "A lamia? A minotaur?"

Her seductive grin falls and she snarls at me, and suddenly it is very clear why she isn't on the cover of _Vogue_. "Fool! I am Mormo!"

Meg shakes herself up, blinking and frowning at the woman. "Mormo? I've never even heard that."

I frown. "Neither have I," I mumble, brows creased. I've made it a point to research as many mythologies as possible when I have spare time, but I've never even come across the name 'Mormo'.

"Mormon?" Antoine asks, voice hazy and far away. "You mean, like, the religion?"

She smiles cruelly. It isn't very seductive anymore. "I assure you that I'm not a religion, though a fabulous one I would be. I am Mormo. The myths about me are few. I was a consort of Hecate! I was her _avatar!_ But no, I wasn't important enough. All that anyone ever knew was that I had power of fire!" Her hair flares higher. "And _don't_ I, young one?"

"Avatar?" I demand, giving Meg a clear look and then nodding slightly towards the guy still riding Mormo like the best cowboy in the state. She hesitates but seems to understand, inching slowly around; Antoine is still groaning on the ground from where he hit his head. "What do you mean, avatar? Isn't that a TV show?"

She grimaces. "Oh, you will learn, young one. Leonardo here will teach you."

"Leo - ?"

"Lady," the guy on her back grunts, "I don't know how you know my name, but let me just say it is _not_ helping your chances of a date later." I take a moment to look at him a little closer – he's college age, maybe 20 or 21 years old, with tan skin, brown eyes, and a lot of laugh lines. He has a thin face and high cheekbones – a lot, I realize, like mine.

_Hispanic,_ I think. _He's gotta be Mexican or Puerto Rican._

"Alright, Loki and Steve," I mumble, smiling slightly at my own joke before my voice raises. "So I know your name. What's your horrible plan to rule the world?"

"Not _my_ plan, mortal. It is the plan of someone _far_ greater than you or I – I'm just the messenger." She gives me a quivering smile that practically _oozes_ sex appeal. "And you wouldn't shoot the messenger, would you, dear?"

I hesitate – just for a moment. I'm a teenage boy with hormones, after all, and my sexuality is only under _speculation_. When she bares my teeth I know I've waited too long – but then, from behind her comes a girl's voice: "He might not. But I will."

There's a _rip-rip-rip_ that I know is curly hair (Leon?) carving patterns in Mormo with the switch blade Meg's managed to hand him, and then she's only dust in the wind.

"Gonna explode," Antoine warns from the ground, looking queasier by the moment.

I grimace. "Oh, man, are you gonna barf? Gross."

"Not me," he moans, face distinctly green. "Mormon. Momo. Whatever. Not a regular monster. Gonna explode…" He cradles his head in his hands. "Gotta get out…"

The college-age guy understands it before either me or the girl, and he curses loudly in Spanish. "Alright," he grimaces, looking between Meg and I. "Either of you know each other?" We both shake our heads. "Great. Fan-fucking-tastic."

"Exploding soon. Gonnna destroy…glass…" Antoine shudders; I instinctively move towards him before I understand what he says.

"_Mierda,_" I hiss, ignoring the curious look tall-dark-and-Mexican gives me. "We need to get out. Now. Meg, get Antoine – _now._ Shit." I turn towards the man. "You. Leonardo. Explain. Now."

"No can do," he tells me as Meg reluctantly helps Antoine up and then starts to drag his sorry ass outside. "I'll call camp, get you all a ride over there – that's all I can do to you. I'm not into the whole 'hero' gig anymore."

"Less time than you think," Antoine rasps. "Hurry up, _hurry up!_"

"Well, it would help if you would move some on your own," Meg snaps impatiently; he grunts as she drags him faster out the door.

"You're explaining when we get outside," I tell the older man, glowering. "I have some – "

_"REY GET YOUR ASS OUT OF THERE RIGHT NOW OR YOU ARE GOING TO GET CATAPULTED ACROSS THE STATE._"

Meg almost drops him. _"Rey?!"_

"I'm on the way!" I call irritatedly, though I start to walk to the door to appease him. Now that I think about it…the sand that the monster disintegrated into seems like it's lit up. It's as if…it's like…

It's a fuse.

And it's almost out.

God, how can I have been so _stupid?_

_"Duck!"_ Antoine screams; Leonardo understands a moment before I do and throws me to the ground with him – but too late. I hadn't taken the threat seriously enough and neither had he.

And that's how I was catapulted across the state of Arkansas when I should've been in English class.

+x+

Now is probably as good a time as any to tell you about my brother.

He was nine years older than me and he had a motorcycle, and as any seven-year-old knows, sixteen-year-olds with motorcycles are probably the coolest people you will ever meet. He spoke Spanish 24/7, too, like our parents. It wasn't an issue; we were both homeschooled and neither of us had much contact with anybody outside of the family, so we both grew up knowing mostly one language. Still, he was one badass motherfucker.

The trouble started the day he finally let me ride on the back of his motorcycle for him.

_"Su nombre es Rosa_," he told me proudly, banging his helmet against it before holding it out to me. I took it and jammed it on; it didn't fit over my head and it shaded my eyes, and I was going to have major hat hair later. None of that concerned me at the time, though, because I was too busy being excited. _"Donde esta tu casco, hermano?" _I asked curiously.

_" No es una problema,"_ he ventured calmly. He swung his leg over the seat – still without a helmet – and patted the space behind him; I hopped on excitably and wrapped my arms around his waist. I liked to think he looked just like I would when I was his age. I had a lot of dreams, and 90% of them involved being just like my _hermano_. He revved the engine and I clung to him excitedly as we zipped out of the driveway and began to barrel down a Texas highway, one of those straight stretches that goes on for miles and miles without anything but wind and the occasional other car in sight.

He yelled something over the wind that picked up, but I couldn't hear it. _"Que?"_ I hollered. He repeated himself, but I still didn't hear it, so I asked again. He turned around, irritation laced within his expression.

He never saw the truck coming.

(I never learned his last words.)

+x+

"Hey," Curly Top says mutedly as I gaze with half-lidded eyes. "You okay?"

I blink myself awake and sit up, rubbing my head. "What happened?" I ask, and my voice sounds distant and groggy even to myself. "Where are we?"

"We got thrown across a couple states from the explosion." He props a pillow up behind my head as I focus in on my surroundings; we're in what looks like an abandoned warehouse, some old automobile parts scattered throughout the floor. "I hate to hide in a Monocle Motors warehouse again, but there weren't any other empty places around and you were still out cold." He pauses and then shifts uncomfortably while I rub my eyes. "Ah, thanks for helping me out with Mormo back there. I've been chasing her for days – my weapons are back at camp."

"Camp?" I ask, probing him curiously with my eyes; he's set up a comfortable little bed-couch for himself, made up of autoparts and a dusty pillow like mine that looks like it'll crumble if he leans on it wrong. "So there's like, an HQ for heroes? What are you – a lone ranger type guy, or…?"

His lips twitch, like the idea amuses him. "Nah. I don't work for good."

"So you're a bad guy?"

"No. I'm a balanced guy."

"…what does that – "

"Doesn't matter." He changes the subject abruptly. "Point is, we need to get you to a camp – and the closest one that won't kill me on site is in California." He addresses me formally, as if I know what's going on as well as he does – which, news flash, I don't. "I can't get an Iris message to anybody but Frank because – " his nose flares. "Because Frank's _patron_ wants us to make up from our argument. So we'll hang out here for a while and then, when Frank's cooled off enough, I'll contact him and we'll get you to a camp."

I blink a few times. "Who even are you?"

He looks up from where he was scowling at his hands to face me, wide-eyed, lips twitching up. "Oh, yeah, you don't know my name. I'm Leo Valdez. What about you?"

"Uh, Rey Cabrera." I look around. "Antoine and – the girl, what's her name, Meg – where are they?"

He shrugs helplessly. "Sorry, kid. I have no clue. They were further away than us, so they probably didn't get blown as far."

"Yeah, what state are we in, exactly?" I ask, and it's hard to keep the bite out of my voice but I'm a naturally snappy person, I suppose. He looks amused by it. My eye twitches.

"Um." He tenses in preparation for my response. "Kentucky, actually."

I practically keel over in shock. Kentucky is not a place that I want to be, because 1. my first foster home was in Kentucky, and 2. my first foster mother was actually a cannibal Cyclops who 3. I only escaped by 4. running away and finding Antoine. In some ways, this could be considered good, because 5. Antoine is a really good ally who also happens to be kind of hot, but 6. it's also left me with some really bad memories and 7. I just _don't want to be here._

"How soon can we leave."

"Now, if you're ready. I can get a ride from my patron – "

"You keep mentioning that. What's a patron?"

He hesitates and fixates me with a curious look before breathing a hopeless sigh. "It's a long story. See, there are the gods. Greek gods."

I frown. "How long will this take?"

He smiles mirthlessly. "A while. But it's very, _very _important."

I settle in as he looks me straight in the eye and starts to speak. "Once, there was a woman named Gaea…"

+x+

_and i believe that this may call for a proper introduction, well  
dont you see im the narrator and this is just the prologue?  
swear to shake it up if you swear to listen  
were still so young desperate for attention – i aim to be your eyes_

_**trophy boys, trophy wives**_

+x+

**author's note**

chapters are obv going to be short – 2000 words per chapt, im thinking. which means that there will be a lot of chapters and a lot of updates.

YAY NOVEL LENGTH THINGS

hopefully gonna pull in some readers purely through persistence in updating. next chapter switches pov, looking forward to introducing you all to Meg officially~

short reminder that I'm barely editing these before I post them – Novembers just about getting the novel done, December is editing. constructive criticism is more necessary now than ever


	3. The Dog Days Are Over

III: Meg

The Dog Days Are Over

I used to pretend that I was from The Nightmare Before Christmas.

I could go the melodramatic route and claim that the girls around me played with Barbie dolls and gushed over hair and made fun of me, but I've never been one for exaggeration. We tolerated each other; occasionally I played Barbies with them, occasionally they played monsters with me. But they never intervened when I played Nightmare Before Christmas, and I never asked them to. For me, it was something beyond the realm of the orphanage and the people in it; it was something sacred, to be touched only in dreams and the best of my fantasies. I revered it, while those around me accepted it, just as they accepted the fact that they would have to watch it again every Halloween while I had to watch Peter Cottontail every Easter.

I fell in love with the lead – Jake Skellington, the Pumpkin King – from day one, and I constantly acted out the dream that I was Sally, the female lead, a Frankenstein-esque doll made entirely of patched cloth. I thought myself just like her – determined, suppressed by elders, with strange premonitions that I hoped weren't true. Other people had their brothers or their parents or celebrities to look up to. I had Sally.

Even as I grew older and became more aware of my, ah, _situation_, my love for the movie never faded. I found new ways of enjoying it; I discovered Nightmare Revisited and became a fan of the bands involved. I found merchandise. And every year, I watched it twice. Eventually, some of the girls joined me, and somewhere around the age of 9 the boys were allowed to come over from across the street and watch it with us. I was told by the others, as well, that I was similar to Sally – some a bit vindictively, but none with the intention to actually hurt me; they were told with the intent that we could laugh it off together, which we did.

In the end, I suppose, I am just like Sally. We were both always falling apart at the seams and neither of us knew it until it was almost too late.

+x+

That's what I dreamt of after the explosion.

+x+

This is what happened afterwards.

+x+

His name is Antoine and in his last life, he was a famous writer.

He isn't doing so well now, though; his sandy hair is sticking up in all sorts of different directions, and his eyes – different colors, I had noted earlier with some curiosity – are still tightly closed. I think he's still knocked out. His graphic tee's picture has somehow been smeared, though his jeans are still in good condition (thank the gods). I take a moment to gather my bearings and realize that – stupidly – I had left my switchblade with the two boys who happen to not be here. I curse myself.

That isn't the only thing I curse myself for. _Rey._ I had been so sure that his name was Iolaus! My premonitions have never failed me before, and I don't see why they would with this boy, especially when the stakes were so high. The kid – _Rey_, I bitterly remind myself again_–_ definitely looked like him, with the same scowl permanently etched into his forehead and the same thin face. I've been searching for Iolaus for a while now, and I had followed a lead to that school, one that I had been sure ended with that boy. When I'd looked at him to find out, I hadn't sensed anything – but that might've been because it was the heat of the moment and I hadn't been paying very much attention. So what went wrong?

Antoine stirs next to me, and it's only when I hear the rustling as he moves that I realize we've landed in high grass – right next to a creaky old house. He fumbles around a little and sits up groggily, looked at me with those startling eyes, crystal clear despite how bleary they should be. I blink back at him.

"Um." He yawns. "Yo?"

My eye twitches. _Yo?_ "Hello, Antoine," I greet calmly, resisting the urge to roll my eyes. "Welcome to the world of the living."

"Not even gonna ask how you remember my name, doll," he hums calmly before moving so that he sits more comfortably. He squints at me, as if the sun is in his eyes – I wouldn't be surprised if it was; it is, I realize with a start, probably still early in the morning. "You're…Meg, right? Or something? Meghan, or – "

"Megara," I inform him, "but you can call me Meg – _holy shit,_ ow!" I hiss and try to grab at my wrist, which definitely does not help the problem. _"Fuck!"_

"Are you okay?" he asks concernedly, swatting my fingers away from my hand – which, I realize with sudden horror, I must've landed on and twisted so badly in the process, the nerves couldn't even send signals to my brain for quite a while. "Oh, shit, I don't think it's supposed to bend like that." He flinches and then looks up at the house. "_Hey!_" he hollers at them. _"Emergency! Anybody home?_"

There is a distinct pounding of feet on a hardwood floor and the sound of a door being slammed open so hard some china falls on the inside. "Nico!" a voice berates. "You need to be more care – oh." I can't turn to see what's going on from the position Antoine's put me in by grabbing hold of my wrist, but I hear noises. The voice is definitely a woman's, and it sounds shakier the next time she talks. "Nico, go inside. I'll – I'll help them in." Some more rustling and some distant murmurs, and then the sound of someone tromping down the wooden steps of the wraparound porch. "Where are you two from?"

"Arkansas," Antoine says bluntly, and I'm 98% sure he's completely losing his cool. "There was this monster – Mormon – "

"Mormo," I correct.

"Mormo, yeah, her – and she exploded, and we ended up here." He swallows and carefully avoids looking at my hand. "Um, I think she landed on this – so if you could, ah, if you could help – "

"Of course, of course," the woman reassures; she moves to pick me up, and Antoine's hand darts back as if it's been burnt. I feel the strange experience of weightlessness before I'm cradled softly in the woman's grip. Now that I can see her, I can tell that she's very pretty – she's African-American, with beautiful gold eyes and dark hair curled into ringlets. I let out a strangled laugh. "Afraid of some blood, Antoine?" I murmur.

"Not cool, man." His voice quivers and I realize that I've hit the nail on the head. "No, seriously. Like. This is the really bad and I don't know how you're not flipping out." He shivers.

"Calm down." My speech is shockingly steady, but I'm fairly sure it won't last long; now that I'm getting some signals from my nerves, I feel as if I'm about to black out from the pain. "Just look away."

His face distorts in shame, but eventually he turns his gaze, closing the door behind us as the woman carries me inside. There's the sound of something clanging in the kitchen, but when my eyebrows crease the woman just smiles softly at me. "That's Nico," she says calmly. "He doesn't deal with people very well, so he's making us something to eat. I'm sorry if I jostle you, but do you think if I carry you up the stairs – " I groan at the thought of more stairs. "Didn't think so. I'm going to set you down on the couch, okay?"

I nod, blinking spots from my eyes. I don't like the way I'm deteriorating so quickly – it's concerning. The woman scrutinizes me and, without looking over her shoulder, says "Why don't you go help Nico in the kitchen, er – Antony, I think it was?"

"Antoine. Okay," he mumbles; I watch his shadow move along the wall. Part of me is unnaturally forlorn – I may have just met him today, but I already know so much about him through his past life that I'm a little attached. (And a little willing to strangle him, but I'm going to give him the benefit of the doubt and say that's because of trauma.) _That's a problem_, I think, scowling at myself; _it's not fair to get attached to people when they don't even know you._

"What _happened_ to you?" the woman mutters above me as she takes out a First Aid kit; it's definitely not just bandages and gauze in there, though – I don't even recognize most of the stuff. "Mormo – I've never even heard of them."

"Neither had we." I clear my throat. "Look, Ma'am – are you a demigod?"

"Yes," she says as she gingerly touches my wrist. "Daughter of Pluto. My name is Hazel. This is going to hurt, so if you need to, squeeze my hand." She takes my uninjured hand in hers, and before I can ask she's twisted the bones around; I flinch and grip her hand so tightly I almost draw blood, blinking back tears. She makes a sympathetic noise. "I'm sorry about that, but it was important. If I gave you ambrosia without setting it first, it would heal wrong and we would have to break it again."

"How do you know that?" I ask, breathless.

She smiles softly as she begins to set my hand. "I'm majoring in nursing at my college. I _better_ know these things by now."

There are a few minutes of silence as she wraps something around my palm; I shift uncomfortably at the quiet. I've never liked silence. It's always seemed to loud. "So," I say for the sake of speaking, "why does Nico have trouble with people?"

"Posttraumatic Stress Disorder." She rifles for something and comes out with a few small golden squares. "Eat this." She pops them in my mouth; I'm surprised at the taste – like chocolate chip cookie dough, still half-frozen, just the way I like it. I chew thoughtfully, but when I swallow my throat burns; she watches me hesitantly, as if she's afraid I'll start smoking at the ears. When I've satisfied her by not burning to a crisp, she continues. "There was a war with the giants a few years ago, and Nico was a prisoner of war – so we can't take him to a therapist, because they'll just think he's crazy for what he describes to them, and we can't take him back to camp because they don't quite trust him anymore. So I'm taking care of him."

I think. "Is he your boyfriend, or - ?"

Her lips twitch. I think she finds the idea funny. "No, he's my half-brother. He's a son of Hades."

"Oh." I wait a moment to process that. "Hey, wait a second – I thought you said you were a daughter of Pluto."

"Because I am."

"So how - ?"

"Pluto is Hades' Roman form." She says it like she's said it a thousand times, face sagging of something between exhaustion and understanding. "He changes aspects sometimes, and when he does his personality changes. The rest of the gods do it too." She gives me a curious look. "Am I safe to assume that you're a demigod - ?"

"Um, yeah." Technically it's not a lie, but my mouth feels dry anyway. "Mnemosyne. Goddess of memory."

"Hmm, I've never heard off her." She sounds confused and I tense in wait, but she just shrugs. "Probably a Greek name. I was always better remembering Romans." I relax instinctively as she finally finishes up on my hand. "Alright, so now let's go see if – "

There is the clatter of a pot and a sudden scream from the kitchen, and we both tense. "That didn't sound like Antoine," I mumble, voice quavering.

She gives me a horrified look, and then we both sprint to save the day.

+x+

My seams are coming apart.

+x+

_run fast for your mother, fast or your father  
run, for your children, for your sisters and brothers  
leave all your __**love**__ and your __**longing**__ behind  
you cant carry it with you if you want to survive_

_**the dog days are over**_

+x+

**author's note**

its actually kind of amusing that I have no reviews/favorites

man I must suck

I cant really get better without reviews though ha irony reacharound

anyways


	4. Girl With One Eye

IV: Meg

Girl With One Eye

"Maybe I'm wrong," I say, tightly gripping my left hand in my right, "but I don't think trees are supposed to do that."

"Yeah, great time for bad repartee," Antoine hisses, carefully avoiding looking at my hands but falling back next to us all the same while Nico – a man about Hazel's age with olive-toned skin, dark hair and angry eyes – held off a small girl with his frying pan. She isn't nearly as imposing as Mormo, though that's not to say she isn't terrifying; her skin is the brown of trees, her hair green and cut into a pretty bob. Her eyes, however, are permanently closed, and her mouth has no shortage of fangs. "Anybody got any weapons?" Antoine mutters.

"Oh, we don't need any," Hazel bristles as Nico bats the monster away with a nearby wooden spoon. "It's just the ash tree nymph from our backyard. She's been bothering us since we moved in a few weeks ago."

"What about an ashtray?" the brown-haired boy asks cluelessly. I groan, and immediately he turns and gives me a look of concern, which is touching despite his freaky eyes. "Hey, are you okay now? She got you healed?"

"Yeah, I'm fine," I affirm, hesitating a moment before turning to look at the ground. "Thanks for. You know. Not running away and all."

"Why would I run away?" He sounds genuinely confused, which is definitely making _me_ genuinely confused. "Don't get me wrong, you're terrifying and everything, but that doesn't mean I don't want to talk to you. You seem kind of cool so far, I guess."

I snort. "Well, you knew was a demigod, and when most people meet – hey, wait. How _did_ you know that I was a demigod?"

He taps his nose and winks at me. "Smelled ya." Before I can decide whether he's joking or not, there's a mighty shriek as the tall man – _Nico_, I remind myself – finally forces the nymph out the window and then slams the window in front of it, almost crushing its fingers in the process. "Fucking pest," he grumbles before turning towards us.

The first thing that strikes me is how _tired_ he looks – his entire face seems to sag under its own weight, and his mouth droops dully at the sides. There are bags under his eyes, which are glazed over, though the right one occasionally twitches and lets me see a moment of startling clarity that's obviously made up mostly of fear. His hair is unkempt and long, and every once in a while his entire face convulses, as if he's about to sneeze. "You okay?" he asks, nodding at my hand.

I start. "Oh, yeah. She fixed me." I jerk my head in the general direction of Hazel, who's been watching my conversation with Antoine with some amusement. "So, you're…her brother right?"

"Half-brother, actually. Nico di Angelo, son of Hades, at your service," he says, grimly holding out his hand to me. It's strangely somber, considering the pink apron that he's wearing and the wooden spoon still in his other hand. Still, I shake the free one, masking my amusement. "That's Hazel Levesque."

"I know that," I affirm.

"I didn't," Antoine protests. I elbow him, wincing at the shock it sends through my wrist.

"So," Nico says, showing no signs of even processing my communication with the French boy, "assuming the two of you are demigods, who are you children of?"

"My mom's Mnemosyne. Goddess of memory." I give Antoine a clear look, but he just shrugs. I sigh wearily. "And he doesn't know."

Finally, the man shows emotion other than apathy; his lips twitch upwards as he glances between Antoine and me. Before he can say anything, though, Antoine butts in, clearly ready to take the reins in this situation. "I already asked him, and he said he doesn't know where Rey and the other guy left. He says he met know him, though – called him Leo Valdez."

"He did say he was named Leonardo." My nose scrunches as I think, which is a bad habit but one I haven't bothered to get rid of.

"That's what I thought," he offers, though he sounds relieved.

"Why don't you all go sit down at the table." It's Nico who intervenes this time, exchanging a meaningful look with Hazel over our heads. "I'll finish up on this mac and cheese, and you three can discuss Leo. You still need to rest your wrist, anyway, ah – "

"Meg."

"Yes. Meg." He squints. "You seem familiar."

I shift uncomfortably. "You've probably met my father. He's pretty well known."

"I don't have much contact with people."

"He's also dead."

His eyebrows rise. "Interesting." He turns back to the oven, where – in a stroke of luck – nothing has burned. "You all go along in there, anyway. I'll be right there."

The moment the kitchen door swings shut behind us, Antoine has stopped us both. "Wait." Hazel's face is dead serious and so is mine. "Nico – he's an author, right? Rey's read some of his books."

The African-American woman looks surprised, though not displeased. "He is. He's in the middle of writing a series right now, actually." She studies him more closely. "Is something…wrong?"

The word lingers and he fidgets with the hem of his shirt. "Nothing's _wrong_, it's just – " He swallows. "When I talked to him…he was really, really reluctant to talk about that Leo guy. Why was that?"

Her face brightens. "Oh, that's easy."

He blinks. "It is?"

She smiles softly at him. "Leo is Nico's ex-boyfriend."

+x+

"So." Antoine clears his throat awkwardly. "Is he gay or bi or…?"

"There's this thing called tact," I snort. "You _might _want to try to invest in some."

"You and Rey are _so_ similar," he grumbles under his breath. Before I can retort – though I'm not even sure if that was an insult or not – he's turned away from me to look across the table at Hazel once more, eyes gleaming – one with the dull twinkle of curiosity, and one with the spark of mischievousness. "But anyway, there are like, eighteen billion different sexualities in the world and I really, _really_ don't want to offend him. So gay, bi, pan…?"

"He's a homosexual," she reassures, offering a comforting smile as his shoulders sag. I resist the urge to roll my eyes and otherwise occupy them by gazing around the room; it's sparsely furnished, with only four seats around a small table, but somehow quaint despite this. Like the rest of the house, the walls and floor are made of wood, but someone laid out a carpet beneath the table and an elegant chandelier hangs overhead. "I wouldn't worry, anyway," she adds, startling me. "Nico may seem fragile, but he's got a pretty thick wall of resistance built up at this point. I don't think it's _possible_ to offend him." She gives me a wry look. "A lot of demigods are like that."

I blink in surprise, but before I can decide what she means, the door opens and a short man's pallid face creeps out at us. "Does somebody want to help me with the bowls?" he asks, cheeks flushing scarlet at the sudden attention. Hazel practically knocks over her chair as she stands to help, gently taking his arm and pulling him away, letting the door swing closed behind her and leaving Antoine and I in awkward silence.

I take the moment to size him up – not as an ally, not as Antoine de Saint-Exupéry as he'd been in his past life, but as if he is an enemy. Somewhere along the line, I've found that if you pretend the person in front of you is secretly trying to kill you, you learn a lot more about them than if you only viewed them as a friend (or a romantic interest, in some cases). Altogether, though, he really isn't that imposing – thin and gangly and awkward, with ears that burn red and a sheepish grin as his default expression. The only thing that's _really_ threatening is his eyes, which somehow seem disconnected and cold from the rest of the body – even from each other.

"Hey." His voice interrupts my analysis, and I abruptly realize that he's been studying me, too – though whether it's in the same way that I am, I don't know. (My cheeks definitely don't burn at the prospect.) "Sorry I wimped out on you back there. Blood…" He winces, and I feel a pang of sympathy; I know what it's like to be afraid of things. "I mean. I just. It creeps _the fuck_ out of me."

"Why?" He shifts uncomfortably, and I frown. "Not to be intrusive, but…did something happen with blood? Or is it like a fear of heights, where it just _happens_?"

"I dunno." The way he stares at the ground tells me more than his words do. "I don't like how it feels. It's kind of solid, and it _congeals_ and it changes colors from the inside of your body to the outside and – " he shudders. "Sorry," he repeats.

"No big deal," I promise. "Everyone's afraid of something, right? Fatal flaws and all that."

He snorts – which, I reason to my sinking stomach, is better than repeatedly apologizing for something that isn't his fault. "My fatal flaw is definitely _not_ my fear of blood," he reassures me, eyebrows raised. "But thanks, you know. For making me feel better."

"No problem." My blood pounds through my ears. I don't know _my_ fatal flaw yet. In fact, I don't even know what fatal flaws there _are_ yet. I have a general idea of some of them – addictions, foolhardiness, love, etc, etc – but only a few, and even those I don't exactly have a wealth of knowledge on. My face burns with something I vaguely recognize with jealousy – why didn't _I_ get to figure _mine_ out first?

The thought's wiped from my mind when the door opens and Hazel and Nico reenter, each carrying two bowls of steaming macaroni and cheese. It's the kind you make over a stove, too, not those little plastic cup-like things that you juts microwave. I take mine gratefully and blow on it, adjusting the fork so that it's in no danger of falling in. "Thank you," I tell Hazel, smiling softly; she beams at me. Antoine, in the meantime, has already begun to dig in, scarfing down his food so fast I have to check and make sure that the fork's still moving between the food and his mouth.

"Slow down," Hazel reprimands. "You eat almost as fast as Percy used to."

He pauses to swallow; Nico is picking at his food across from me, scowling at it like it's done him some huge personal offense. "Percy?" Antoine probes, and I resist the urge to groan; instead I rest my head on the table. Does he really have to be so _obvious?_

"An old friend," she says, calm as you please. She looks unperturbed, but her eyes have softened; Nico's fork is shaking in his hand. The subject drops, and we eat in silence for a while. The chimes on the porch clang loudly as what I assume is a gust of wind whistles lowly outside the house.

Much to my surprise, it's Hazel that breaks the peaceful – and admittedly awkward – quiet. "I need to get to class," she announces, checking her watch and standing. She looks at Nico over all of our heads. "Can you watch - ?" She makes a vague gesture to Antoine and I.

"Of course," he snorts, polishing off his food and standing as he starts to collect the bowls. "I'm not a child."

She doesn't look convinced, but she nods at him anyway. She turns to us. "Could one of you help him wash the dishes? I know that your wrist is still hurt, Meg, but Antoine?"

"Sure," he says, standing and grabbing my bowl; he holds open the door as Hazel tromps upstairs, presumably to grab her books. "Such a gentleman," I mumble as I trail after Nico, nothing to do but watch them wash and dry. The brunette winks at me before letting the door fall closed. The kitchen is just down the hallway, so we don't have far to go before I'm sitting down again and he's hard at work. I look around boredly.

It doesn't catch my eye at first – it's strangely plain, a soft blue envelope lying innocently opened on the counter. I hesitate a moment before I stand and drag myself over. I'm usually not a snoop, but the card is open and right next to it, and I can't resist reading something so blatant.

_You have been cordially invited to the wedding of Mr. Perseus Jackson and Ms. Annabeth Chase…_

+x+

I'm 90% sure that it's my fault when the ash tree nymph and her friends attack.

And – in secret – I'm 100% sure that I've cursed Hazel Levesque, and 110% sure that she's going to die.

+x+

_i took a knife and cut out her eye  
i took it home and watched it wither and die, well  
shes lucky that i didn't slip her a smile  
but now she sleeps with one eye open_

_**thats the price shell pay**_

+x+

**author's note**

attempted to change the summary to see if that helped. kind of doubting it? OH WELL

also I promise that, eventually, the way the song lyrics correspond to the chapters will make sense. one of those long-range author things that may or may not fall through

IM GONNA GET NO VIEWS AGAIN AND IM ACTUALLY KIND OF EXCITED BECAUSE I CAN DO WHATEVER THE FUCK I WANT WITH THIS STORY AND NOBODY WILL GIVE A FUCK


	5. Kingdom Come

V: Antoine

Kingdom Come

We're half a mile away from the house – where Nico had remained to fight – when I look Meg in the eye and say, dead serious, "Stop blaming yourself. It's not helping and it's not true."

She looks up at me, surprised – which, you know, isn't surprising. I'm not known for being especially observant or tactful, and people make judgments fast. Despite this, she still looks grateful, and that's the important thing. "Thanks," she sighs as we jog a little faster, still glancing over our shoulders ever so often just in case of pursuit, "but you don't know whether it's true or not."

"I've spent enough time around people like you to know that it's not," I insist. She mumbles something under her breath, but I don't hear it well enough to respond. My brows crease.

I hate feeling useless. Not being able to help people, not being able to do a job I've been given…I hate it. But I've gotten pretty good at covering it up over the years. (I like to think that I would be a great actor. Especially in France. French accents are sexy, man.) I turn back to face forward and keep running, legs pumping beneath me and blood rushing to my head.

I hate exercise. Running is Rey's thing, and everything else is a requirement in gym, a class that I've never been all that fond of. Besides, I'm a naturally skinny guy, and being one of those meat-for-brains muscular types never really appealed to me. I am perfectly happy to just sit at home, have feelings on tumblr, and eat too much chocolate, thank you very much. I much prefer people on the internet to people in real life.

Well, except for Rey. But he's an exception to a lot of rules, so he doesn't count.

I lost my breath maybe a quarter of a mile into our impromptu jog away from the house – "I'll hold them off," Nico had yelled at us, waving us off as he grimly faced a veritable army of ashtray nymphs, "we'll Iris Message you in a while" (whatever that means) – and I'm feeling the repercussions of barely stepping foot outside about now. My entire body feels like it's on fire, and not in the good way that happens when I think of a hot girl or watch certain videos online. I think I'm about to vomit.

She notices, too, which is bad because I'm probably 70% less attractive than usual. Not that I care or anything, just that I don't want her to think I'm not physically fit enough to do what I'm supposed to, because I _am._ Seriously! No laughing, you asshats. "Do you need to take a break?" she asks, sounding concerned and just a little worn out herself – which makes me feel a lot better. Normally, I would shake my head, but I actually think I might barf if we keep going, so I nod and we slow. My forehead beads with sweat as I gasp for breath. I smell horrible, too, I'm sure, but I can't tell over the pungent scent of demigod.

Yeah, I wasn't lying when I said I smelled her – in fact, I've only lied once in my entire life, and that was a long time ago. I've always been able to smell the magical and mythical, though I can't see them as clearly as Rey can. She's been clogging up my nose since this morning, being so close by – when the nymph appeared the first time, I couldn't detect it, too concentrated on her; I only smelled it the second time because there were so many that the scent had gotten quite a bit stronger.

"Hey," she interrupts my thoughts, watching me with hooded eyes. She's kind of super creepy – not as creepy as Hazel, and not _nearly_ as creepy as Nico, but still really creepy – but so far she's seemed pretty cool and reasonably genuine about her emotions. I like that in people. Rey says I'm an open book, and I can't really tell when other people are keeping secrets or not because of it; I don't know how people act when they keep secrets. "Are you okay?" she asks. "You seem out of breath."

I grimace. "I'm fine. Just not used to this much physical exertion." I sound like a wimp even to myself; Rey would be raring to do ten times that, and he's a year younger than me and even scrawnier. But like I said, I don't lie. It's not in my nature. And the fact is, I'm _not_ used to this much physical exertion. In fact, I'm barely used to _any_ physical exertion. I much prefer using my head. "I'm not really the fast one of my group."

"Group?" she says it like she didn't even think of the fact that I might have friends outside of Rey – which is okay, because I don't. "How many friends do – "

"Just one," I say hastily.

I forget, sometimes, that other people can't hear the voices in my head.

(Sometimes, I forget that they exist, myself.)

She frowns but shrugs it off. It's only now that I look at her and think she's pretty – green-grey eyes with pupils that are naturally large, long brown hair, a chubby face and a permanent frown. She's wearing ratty camouflage jeans and a tank top, which aren't very good protection-wise but definitely helpful in the heat. She looks dead serious, too, more like a female action hero than a demigod who's lost her weapons and her way. I'm pretty sure I look depressingly wimpy and average next to her.

"Nico said he'd Iris Message us," she ventures, changing the subject. She got pretty friendly with Hazel back there, so I'm not surprised that she thinks Nico and I are closer than we actually are – and I _know_ she does, because she kept reassuring me not to worry back when we started running – but I actually only know the guy from the back cover of Rey's favorite book series. _Nightshade_ or _City of Owls_ or something that sounds depressing like that. "Do you know what that means?"

"No clue," I confess, turning my gaze towards the sky and frowning. "Iris was…a goddess in Greek mythology, right? Of fairies or rainbows or ponies or whatever?"

"Just rainbows, I think," she says, lips pursed in thought. "And…messages. Maybe."

"I thought Hermes was the god of messages."

"Nah, he was the good of boundaries." She looks half deep in thought and half listening to the world around her, the kind of inward-and-outward balance that I wish I could have. "Besides, there can be more than one god for a single thing. There were a whole shitload of gods for war, and even when they weren't the same, there were some whose powers and domains were incredibly similar, like Morpheus and Hypnos."

"Huh," I muse, toying with a few ideas in my head. "So…only Greek mythology is real?"

She blinks at me. "Yeah, you didn't guess it by the monsters and the demigod-ness and stuff? Those two wouldn't have let us stay for a while unless everything around us was seriously dangerous."

"No, I got that. I've been dealing with monsters my entire life." She's full-blown staring at me, know, eyebrows raised and mouth slightly agape. "I just…wasn't sure what they all were from. I thought I'd met up with a few from Egyptian mythology, at least."

She hesitates, carefully wording something in her mind if I have to take a guess. "There can't be demigods in Egyptian mythology because those gods…they didn't have any contact with mortals," she explains carefully, forehead creased. "And if there are any Egyptian monsters on the loose, then nobody's seen them in a long time. Are you sure…?"

"It might've just been my imagination," I supply quickly; I hope that she drops the subject. "I can smell things to a T, but only to a point, and I can't see the details the way Rey can."

There are a few moments of silence before she takes the hint and lets the talk move on. "The smelling thing," she says tensely. "Can you really do it?" I nod. My heightened sense has always seemed a little weird, even to me, and I have some trouble talking about it. "And Io – Rey. He can really see things?"

"And the future. He says that only mortals can be seers, and he got cursed with it." I snort at the thought. He's so ridiculous – but my own curiosity is burning. "Io?"

She curses under her breath. "Nothing. Don't worry about it."

"It doesn't _sound_ like nothing."

"I _said –_ "

"Wow," I hear Rey say behind me. "Good job not killing each other, huh?"

I trip and land flat on my face in surprise – _great focus, genius,_ I berate myself – but Meg just turns around. "Oh, hello," she greats calmly, as if he's been walking behind us the whole time. I can hear a spark of interest in her voice. "So this is Iris Messaging."

When I turn, I'm even more surprised when I find that Rey is not, in fact, behind us – it actually looks like he's in some sort of warehouse. It's kind of like a two-way video call, with him in one place and us here, except that the image is just kind of floating in midair and the video feed is a lot better than what I get on my computer. After I sort this out, I take a closer look at Rey – he looks exactly like he did this morning, when we last saw him, but he still seems…older, somehow. I don't know. It's probably my imagination.

Right?

"So," my best friend in the world says with a deceptively innocent expression, "how are you guys doing?"

"Pretty good," I say, forcibly casual; it's a strange sort of game that we're playing – one of _who can keep face the best?_ "Have you been formally introduced to Meg yet? Because she exists. And she's kind of, you know, semi-important."

"I know," he says calmly. "I saw her."

"Saw me?" she asks, glaring at the image. I wince internally. I may be tactless, but at least I'm not Rey. "You can't judge people based on – "

"No, I mean in my visions," he backtracks hastily, putting up his hands in protest. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to offend you, I just – "

"Hey, Rey!" a voice calls from outside the image; it snorts at its own unintentional rhyme. "You done with that yet? I need to talk to Frank if we're going to get out of here."

"_Un momento, por favor,_" he hollers back, shaking his head slightly before turning back to us. "Sorry. Leo's best quality definitely isn't patience."

"Um, right," I say, making a serious attempt to keep a straight face and actually succeeding, to a degree. "Anyways, we met a couple of other demigods and Meg broke her wrist – oh _fuck_, I forgot to ask what state we're in – "

"Iowa," Meg tells me automatically; then, when I give her a questioning look, she turns red. "There was a sign. While we were running."

"Ah."

"How did you all manage to get thrown farther away than we did?" Rey demands. He seems seriously upset, so I make a face and shake my head at the picture.

"Probably physics bullshit or something. Man, Greek monsters exist and _that's_ what you're freaking out about?"

He sighs, though he still looks distinctly ruffled. "Anyway," he says, perking up, "I'm actually contacting you for a reason other than to make sure you're safe – though that's pretty awesome, too, of course. Leo wanted me to tell you to take any demigods you happened to have found an meet us in – " he turns to look offscreen. "Where are we meeting, again?"

"Manhattan, Kansas," the voice calls.

Meg's nose wrinkles. "You want to meet us at Kansas university?"

He grins. "Yup! So, um, I'll talk to you later, I guess!"

I wave at him as the connection dissipates. Meg and I exchange looks.

"Well," she says.

"Well," I agree. Then I grin. "Let's go hijack a car."

+x+

_run, run, run and hide somewhere no one else can find  
tall trees bend their leaves pointing where to go – where you will still be all alone  
don't you fret my dear; itll all be over soon  
ill be waiting here_

_**for you**_

+x+

IM STILL NOT GETTING VIEWS HOW SWEET IS THAT

weve hit the ten thousand mark people, if I don't make it to fifty thousand somebody is allowed to punch me in the face

though I don't know who itll be since nobodys reading this

well ill find someone I guess


	6. Safe and Sound

VI: Antoine

Safe and Sound

"You know," Meg yells over the wind in her hair, "maybe the motorcycle wasn't such a good idea."

"What are you talking about?" I yell back, a psychotic grin on my face; I'd insisted that she wear the helmet – first off, her safety seemed more important, and second off I loved the feeling of the wind pushing back my hair. "This is great! We'll make it there in just a few hours. Are you afraid of speed or something?"

"No, but I'm afraid of you losing control! Have you ever driven before?" she hollers; I can still barely hear her. I smirk, rev the engine, and purposely swerve on the road; she shrieks and clings to me more tightly.

"Guess I'm just a natural!" I call back (which is a total lie; I worked in a bike shop for a few years and the manager insisted that I learn there, just in case). For some reason, I have the distinct feeling that she's going to hit me. "Listen, just relax, doll. Nico said he'd meet us about halfway there when he Iris messaged us, right? He'll probably have a ride and you won't have to put up with my horribly reckless driving until another army of trees attacks."

She's holding onto me so hard that her knuckles are turning white and her nails are beginning to dig into my stomach. I wince and she withdraws a little, though she's still pressed almost uncomfortably close to my back. "I don't know if I can wait that long," she calls over the wind. "I'm feeling kind of sick. I don't do well in quickly moving vehicles." Now that I think about it, she does look a little green beneath her helmet. For fear that she'll get vomit all over my back, I slow down some, enough that we're actually following the speed limit; she sucks in a deep breath. "Thanks."

"No problem." I can hear her better now, though it's still a bit of a struggle; her breathing is still ragged and blood is still pounding in my ears and the engine's still running beneath us, all of which collide in a fantastic cacophony of noise. I pull over a little to let a car honking behind us pass and it flies by, a burst of red and then nothing. I stare after it as it disappears over the horizon and I pull our ride back into the lane. "Do you need to stop? I don't have any barf bags, and I'm kind of doubting that those bikers equipped any."

"Of course they didn't. That'd be far too easy – too simple." She grimaces; I can only barely catch her expression, between watching the road and watching the rearview mirror and the way the helmet shades her eyes, but it's still pretty obvious that she isn't in her usual shape and I've known her for less than a day. "Yeah… could you find a place to stop – "

It's about now that I see the police car in my rearview mirror.

"Shit," I hiss. My fingers tighten around the _go_ levers on the handlebars. "Cops are here."

"Um, okay?" She still sounds like she's about to barf, but it's partially overtaken by confusion, which I suppose is better than blowing chunks, even if it's a little more annoying.

"No, _not_ okay," I say, shaking my head. "This is a _stolen_ motorcycle, so we don't know where the information on it is. I'm not wearing a helmet. And, ah…" I swallow. "I don't actually have a license."

She balks. "_What?_"

"Calm down!" I hiss, flattening myself against the handlebars. The policeman in the driver's seat is motioning for me to pull over, but honestly, I'm _not_ inclined to suicide via the law, please and thank you. "I've _driven_ before. Just not legally." There's an uncertain pause before I scowl and rev the engine a little, out of necessity rather than amusement this time. "We're going to have to speed up. A lot. Think you can make it?"

When I check in the mirror she looks completely disgusted, but she's a trooper; her throat constricts as she prepares herself. "Bring it on," she growls, leaning a little further into me. I take a moment to feel badass – I'm on a _motorcycle_ with a girl who could probably be called the official Action Girl of my entire life clinging to me. This is _awesome_.

Then I slam the accelerator.

I'd like to say that the chase scene that follows is fabulous, but since I almost crash and die multiple times and am under constant threat of serious time in the slammer, it's less poetically adventurous and more super fucking tense. Meg's breath is warm on the back of my neck, but I shiver anyway; despite leaving Nico mid-afternoon, there's a distinct chill in the air – the autumn night has almost arrived.

I wish, in a vague sort of sense, that I could be back at Abattoir in Arkanas again. Nobody gave a shit what you did back there; you showed up to class, and you passed. That was it. Homework was rare, tests unheard of. But now, everything feels like a test – and I feel like the new kid who wasn't there for the month that the teacher explained the lesson, but is expected to know everything anyway. And I hate to admit it, but I'm actually kind of terrified.

I swerve and the car follows me; the officer looks determined now, watching us intently beneath his hat. I hate to describe via stereotype, but he honest to god looks like the kind of guy who hangs out in a donut shop 24/7 – a chubby face, a portly body, and a mustache that arguably either makes him look like a pedophile or a 1980's rock artist. I consider stopping the motorcycle and running, because I'm pretty sure this guy won't be able to keep up even at my slow pace, but every time I think about it I realize that we still have a few hundred miles before Kansas. It definitely doesn't help that Meg is looking worse by the second.

From the shadows of the night melts two very distinct figures – one of whom looks amused and the other of whom looks a cross between annoyed and nostalgic. The taller one snaps his fingers and the police car stops point black, the cop staring down at it for a moment, puzzled, before his face takes on a dreamy expression; I skid to a stop next to the two tall figures.

"You stole a motorcycle?" Nico di Angelo asks, thin eyebrows raised and lips reluctantly twitching upwards.

"In this day and age, we don't need labels like 'stole'," I tell him, doing my best to sound utterly nonchalant. "We professionals prefer the phrase 'long-term borrowing'."

"Professionals?" he demands, looking aghast, but Hazel nudges him with her shoulder and shakes her head; I watch in mild amusement as he grumbles under his breath and then falls completely silent. If I didn't know better, I would be humming "whipped" right now. Meg stumbles off of our ride and falls to her knees, with an expression that quite clearly says 'I am about to explode'.

"I am about to explode," she announces, proving me right.

I ignore her. She'll be okay. "How did you all get here so fast?" I ask, trying and failing to keep the fascination out of my voice. There's now why they could've made it this far without a ride, and I don't see any mode of transportation other than my new wheels.

"Shadow traveled," Hazel tells me, golden eyes flashing with something I'm not sure that I want to understand as she watches me. "Something Nico figured out he could do back when he was an innocent preteen…well, mostly innocent." She snorts. "I can't do it, because Pluto's form didn't encompass shadows and darkness as much as Hades did, but he's pretty good at it so it's not really a skill that's in high demand."

"I am feeling nauseas," Meg says over our conversation, eyes dull and glassy. "This is a common symptom of headaches, pill overdose, withdrawal, and overexposure to teen pop music. I think I might explode."

Hazel has the decency to look embarrassed, but Nico is blatantly amused, eyes softening as he watched her. "You don't look so good," he hums, calmly observing as she holds her head in her hands. "The last person I knew who got as carsick as you did – "

"Is someone that we're about to meet," Hazel cuts in before turning to look at us. "We figured it'd be easier to just shadow travel to Kansas – but Nico can only take one person at a time, so he'll come back for you, okay? You can't get into too much trouble while we're gone." She watches me with a tight frown.

"Hey, come on," I reason, grinning in a way that I want to be reassuring but is probably just disconcerting. "What's the worst that can happen?"

"Every time someone says that…" she mumbles, fanning her face before sighing and locking arms with her half-brother. "Alright, Nico, take me there."

"My pleasure, my lady," he hums sarcastically, and before she can berate him they've slithered out of existence. I only have a moment to blink before he's back, extending a hand to Meg; she stumbles to a stand, legs wobbling, and intertwines her fingers with his. They blend into the night sky before disappearing completely; only a few moments later Nico comes back for a third time, extending an arm. The bags under his eyes are even more prominent now, though he doesn't seem to notice them.

"Don't you need a break?" I ask, eyebrows creasing. "I mean, it has to take a lot of energy. You're basically ripping spatial planes apart and making faces at them. Doesn't that tire you out?"

He shakes his head. "I've been practicing this since I was twelve," he explains, voice little more than a flutter in the night. "It's been a while since I've needed to take breaks after only a few trips."

"Right, just rub it in," I mumble, eyeing him speculatively. He really isn't that much older than me – two years, three tops – and he's already got his powers completely under control with a book series in progress to boot. I wish _I_ could be that successful.

_He has PTSD_, I remind myself, feeling guilty for not feeling guilty. _It didn't happen without some serious shit going down_.

But the thing about Nico is that he doesn't _act_ like he has PTSD. He actually seems about as normal as children of Hades can get, if the myths are right. I haven't seen him show any signs of panic since I've met him, not even when an entire army of green teenage girls attacked him. It kind of makes me wonder – what makes this guy tick?

I do that sometimes. It's part of my fatal flaw – a crippling interest in psychology.

He coughs to get my attention and I grab his arm. No need to waste any more time going over what I already know; exposition can come later.

I simultaneously feel like I'm melting and getting doused with ice cold water. My throat constricts; I try to cough but can't seem to find the air, or any air at all, really. I feel the beginnings of a stomachache, and my head feels like it's about to explode. I trip on nothing, and then Nico and I are suddenly blasted away from each other with the force of about eight billion oxen dragging us away.

"That's never happened before," he observes, sounding surprised, before he collapses.

"Hey!" I rush over to him, concern painting me darkly. His face is even paler than it was before, his eyes unusually glazed; shudders wrack his body as he curls into a ball. "Hey, calm down. It's okay. You're gonna be fine." Panic surges but I swallow it instinctively, hesitantly stroking his hand in an attempt to soothe him. "It's okay. You're okay. I'm fine and you're going to be fine. Alright?"

I don't know how, but my words seem to have an effect – he sighs and closes his eyes; the next time he moves, it's less wild writhing and more of a shiver, like when you have a cold chill that you need to brush off. My eyes soften in relief as the hand that's caressing his hand goes to his hair; he relaxes, mouth opening into an almost imperceptible smile. He stops convulsing completely – but he still looks horrible (in the least offensive way possible), with sweat greasing his hair and nose flaring at the shallow breaths.

I keep speaking anything that helps. "Just calm down…rest. That's right. Nothing's going to hurt you, okay? I'm right here. Don't move. You're okay. I'm not going to leave you here…close your eyes, go ahead. Rest. You deserve it."

I take a moment to look around. It's not as dark over here yet – which is expected, as we _had_ been travelling west – and it's fairly obvious that we're in a college; a group of buff jocks are playing football in a nearby field, and there are a few thin students with protest signs at a running fountain. Tall buildings litter the campus, and I feel a short burst of déjà vu.

"Nico!" a voice calls; it's feminine and beautiful, but the shock in it maims it. "Oh my gods, what – "

"Hello," I great calmly, looking up at the girl (woman?) who is now staring down at us, aghast.

Like her voice, she's very feminine and _very_ beautiful – her long brown hair is pulled into a side braid, and her eyes seem to flash a million and two different colors, each nicer than the last. She looks vaguely Native American, with a camouflage jacket and ratty jeans. She's the kind of girl who looks nice without even trying, but she manages to look incredibly cheerleader-ish at the same time – and let me just say that cheerleaders are _not_ as cheerful as people think they are.

"Excuse me, but where are we?" I ask without batting an eyelash at her appearance. She's too old for me, anyway. "The town, I mean."

"Manhattan, Kansas." Nico's smile grows marginally when he realizes that he made it. I smile crookedly. "Here, let me help him up – he looks _horrible_, what happened – "

"Hello, Piper," Nico greets peacefully. "It's nice to see you, too."

+x+

_just close your eyes; the sun is going down  
you'll be alright; no one can hurt you now  
come morning light you and ill be_

_**safe and sound**_

+x+

**author's note**

SHRIEKS AND FLIES INTO THE SUN BECAUSE OBAMA WON THE ELECTION AND OPENLY PANSEXUAL/ASIAN-AMERICAN/VETERAN-WITHOUT-LEGS SENATORS WERE ELECTED ALL OF WHOM WERE WOMEN AND LEGALIZED GAY MARRIAGE IN A STATE AND PUERTO FUCKING RICO

ALSO MY STORY ACTUALLY GOT A REVIEW, LIKE WOAH (and there was CONSTRUCTIVE CRITICISM with it! I don't think I managed to improve on it this time, but ill definitely keep it in mind in the future)

also nanowrimo 'care packages' with writing advice are a godsend okay


	7. Dream On

VII: Rey

Dream On

I dream of the stars.

I'm not very happy about it – I was having a pretty damn good dream that happened to involve Isaiah Mustafa and a hot tub – but my irritation quickly fades into curiosity. I stand alone in a room; the only furniture is a desk in the corner with a globe on top of it. On every imaginable surface there are cheap glow in the dark stars pasted into constellations; I look down to find that I'm standing right in the center of Cepheus. On the ceiling above me glows Delphinus, and on the wall next to me is Corvus. I stumble out of my constellation only to find myself inside another; I am completely surrounded.

I'm 100% sure that it's a dream when the patterns start to come to life.

They glow brighter before peeling off of their place, and suddenly the room is filled with chatter and movement; Aries and Taurus butt heads; Orion and Hercules have a serious discussion while they polish their weapons; and Gemini flirts with Virgo while Perseus slays Medusa again. I find myself turning everywhere, trying my best to take it all in while I have the opportunity. This isn't the first time I've had a dream like this, but it's been a few years.

"You there!" a voice snaps, and I turn to find a teenage girl shoving her way through the crowd. She's about my height, with black hair and a pretty face and a bow strapped to her back, but she isn't any constellation that I recognize – and even if she was, I really don't enjoy talking to people who look like they want to stab me in the gut. "Boy! Get over here!"

"Um," I say, because I've only had this dream once before and nobody talked to me that time, but she must lack patience because she marches right up and stares me full on in the face with no regard for my personal bubble. My heart beats a little faster at the close proximity. I don't want to admit it, but I'm afraid. "Um," I repeat. "Hi?"

She sighs disgustedly and gives me a once over, mouth twisted downwards. I feel unreasonably self-conscious. "Well, I suppose thou art the one," she frowns, looking thoroughly disgruntled and more than a little angry. "_Yer_ the only mortal here."

I can't help but feel a little fascinated with this girl who hates me but knows so little about me. "And which constellation are you?"

"The Huntress," she snaps, tapping her foot impatiently. "However, you may address me as Zoe. Zoe Nightshade, in full. I was once a Huntress of milady Artemis, but I serve a different goddess since I've been sown into the stars."

"Sown into the stars?" Her scowl deepens with every word I say. "What, did the goddess of the night just take a stitching needle and – "

"'Tis not important!" she insists, face flushing. "I have been sent to deliver a message. Your patron has told me to direct you and _yer_ party to Portland, Oregon. She said…" Her stormy expression turns into a wry smile. "She said that 'tis where thou might best see the stars."

I stare blankly. "Why would I need to – "

"You can ask her when you arrive. Portland, Oregon. Do not fail, Rey Cabrera. The metic is counting on you."

"The metic?" The dream shimmers and begins to dissolve, people and animals and instruments falling through the floor. "Wait! What does that mea – "

I shoot upwards in the warehouse. "Gods _damn_ it!"

Leo jumps next to me, cursing when he spills a hot drink on his wrist. "_Shit_, Rey, could you _warn_ me before you decide to Andrew Jackson your wake-up call?"

I rub my head and scowl at him. Technically, it's midafternoon, and I was only asleep for half an hour to an hour at most, but the fact remains that I'm not a morning person. "Sorry, next time I'll sound a fire alarm for you and you'll have plenty of time to vacate the premises."

"Somebody woke up on the wrong side of the auto parts," he sings before returning to…whatever it is he's tinkering with. I sigh and rub my head, wincing as I feel a twinge of pain. _Dios mio_, I hate cluster headaches. Leo's good-natured smile fades. "But seriously," he says, "did you have a prophetic dream? Normally it's just demigods, but since you can see through the Mist, I guess you should be able to have them, too."

I take a shaky breath. "Yeah," I croak. "There's – Portland. A goddess sent a constellation to tell me to go to Portland."

He stares at me for a moment, but I guess he's seen his fair share of weird things because he just shrugs it off. For the first time since I wake up, I look at him again – he has a grease stain on his face, and his arms are completely black with soot, his sleeves rolled up. "What have you been _doing_ while I was taking a nap?"

"Huh? Oh." He glances down at his project as if he'd barely noticed it. "I dunno. Working without thinking, I guess." He gives me a look, like _what can you do_, and then stands and offers a dirty hand. "Frank's probably cooled off enough by now that we can talk to him about getting a ride. Think you're ready to meet him?"

I hesitate for a moment before taking his hand and standing. And when we start to walk up the stairs, I don't look back.

+x+

Leo showed me how to Iris Message a few hours ago, but the process kind of amazes me anyway. I watch with complete concentration as he connects the old hose he found to the wall, turns the gear, and shines a flashlight to make a rainbow. It's a shockingly helpful set up, enough so that it makes Leo – and me – suspicious. Despite our uneasiness, he takes out a golden coin (_drachma_, I remind myself) and tosses it in, saying "Oh Iris, goddess of the rainbow, accept my offering."

The image of a woman shimmers in front of us – one of those protest-heavy college kids, with peace signs and smiley faces hanging from every hole in her ears and a graphic tee loudly proclaiming facts about transsexuals and acceptance thereof. Behind her is a counter stacked with enough healthy food to give any self-respecting child a heart attack at the mere sight of. "Iris," Leo says next to me without bothering to hide his surprise. "You got younger."

She frowns at him. "I'm a goddess; I can look however I want," she points out, eyebrows raised. "This better be a call to fix things with Frank, or – oh! A mortal."

"Yeah, this is Rey," Leo introduces, gesturing vaguely to me. "He's…" he scrutinizes me as if searching for words; I glower at him and his eyes crinkle at the edges. "He's special."

My face heats up and I find myself staring at the floor, avoiding either of their eyes. I don't get compliments very often. The woman – Iris – chuckles before turning back to the older of us; her voice turns stiff and formal. "Now, if you're trying to make me give in _again – _"

"I learned my lesson the first time," Leo says quickly, and in my peripheral vision I can see him put his hands above his head in a gesture of innocence. "I am actually attempting to make up with Frank this time. Like, we will be done with the argument and you can go back to…_boating_ us, whatever that means."

"_Shipping_ you," Iris corrects, and I decide purely from the happiness in her voice that I don't particularly want to know what that word means. "Alright! I'll put you through to him." Her eyes narrow. "_Don't_ mess this up, or I will hurt you."

Before Leo can respond, the scene changes and I'm watching two people in purple robes in a regal throne room made of some precious looking metals.

Also, the two of them are making out.

"_Ay_," Leo says; he has the decency to at least sound embarrassed, but I just stand there and gape like a fish out of water. It's not like I've never seen anybody kiss before – I'm a 16-year-old at a boarding school, it's actually a pretty common thing – but these two are going at it with a lot more passion than I saw on the people at my old school. They make an attractive couple; they're both black-haired and tall, but the boy is broad-shoulder and definitely Asian and the girl is petite and probably Cuban or Puerto Rican. They're both about Leo's age, which is making me wonder just what they planned on doing in this giant room, _alone._ "Um. Bad time?"

The two teenagers shoot apart as if they've been burned, eyes wide and cheeks flushed as they're caught in the act. "Leo!" the guy blurts out while the girl hastily straightens her toga, face burning as she refuses to look up at us. The man looks even more mortified, if that's possible, stuttering over his words and desperately tries to flatten his ruffled hair. "And – other guy! Do you – I mean – um – state your business?"

Though it's one of the hardest things I've ever done, I resist the urge to burst into laughter and mange to keep my grumpy expression intact. "Semi-public affection," I scoff. "Nice." I don't miss the amused look that Leo sends me at my impatient tone.

If possible, the boy blushes harder. "Erm. I'm…sorry about that." He and his girlfriend exchange looks, and it's pretty obvious from the beginning who's the superior; he gives up almost immediately, and she chooses to take over the conversation from there. "So," she says calmly, eyeing me like I'm an interesting experiment rather than a human being, "care to introduce us?"

"Are you sure you don't want some alone time?" Leo asks, fighting to keep the giggles out of his voice. "I don't really want to interrupt anything big, especially if you were finally going to – "

"_Leo!_" They're not even making eye contact with each other anymore. This is so much fun.

He laughs, a deep, booming sound that makes me smile with it's pure sincerity. "_Si, si,_" he hums, gesturing to me. "Guys, this is Rey Cabrera. He's 16. He's mortal, but he can see through the Mist and supposedly he can tell the future sometimes – like Rachel, but less vague and more in the immediate future than the 100-years-away future."

"A seer?" The man's eyes spark with interest. "Like Phineas?"

"Um. Sure." Leo turns to introduce the other two to me, which is marginally terrifying because despite their embarrassment they both look like they can be pretty gods damn imposing if they want and I have to get to _know_ them. "Rey, these are Frank and Reyna, praetors of Camp Jupiter. They've been dating for two years. They still haven't had sex."

_"Leo!_"

He laughs and waves off her protest – which is a bad idea, because if it's possible she looks even _angrier_. "I don't think I explained this, but praetors are like the leaders of the Roman camp – they can get appointed at any point in service, but they have to be good leaders that can control their people. Reyna's been one for…six years, is it? And Frank's been one for three."

"So…" I eye them speculatively; Reyna is watching me coldly while Frank gives me a sheepish smile. "Are you two always…?"

"We're usually a lot more professional than this," Frank reassures me, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. "You just happened to catch us at a bad time. Speaking of, why did you all decide to – " he suddenly cuts himself off, eyes narrowing. "Wait. I'm angry at you."

Leo smiles nervously. "Anyway! Just wanted to know if you could send Lupa's pack to pick us up. With a few stops along the way, of course."

"Lupa?" I ask curiously.

His eyes light up and he grins at me. "Yeah, Lupa," he says with a smirk. "Say, have you ever travelled with a wolf pack before?"

+x+

_sing with me, sing for the years  
sing for the laughter and sing for the tears  
sing with me, if it's just for today  
maybe tomorrow the good Lord will take you away  
dream on, dream on, dream on, _

_**dream yourself a dream come true**_

+x+

headcanon is that iris ships only the crackiest of pairings and nobody will change my mind on this

jsyk there was, at one point, frazel. but this is kind of supposed to be a more realistic take on how the heroes might act later in life? and first love doesn't always last. thisll get addressed in story, but I just wanted to give the excuse before people started hating

also HOLY SHIT _2_ REVIEWS I AM ACTUALLY NOT BEING SARCASTIC ABOUT BEING EXCITED?


	8. Don't Wanna Miss A Thing

VIII: Rey

Don't Wanna Miss a Thing

"So Frank and Reyna," I say, keeping a careful distance from the killer wolves. Five hours after the Iris Message and Leo's hasty but necessary apology, they came to pick us up. We ended up playing tic tac toe while we waited. A lot of tic tac toe. (I won most of the time, but he'll lie and tell you otherwise.) "Why?"

"Well, Rey," he says seriously, hoisting the canvas bag he'd gotten gods-know-where higher up on his shoulders; he'd washed up before we left, but his hair is still visibly greased and the occasional oil stain still mars his features. "When a man and a woman love each other…"

"You know what I mean, _estupido_," I snort while he grins crookedly at me. I myself still look like I've been to Hell (Hades?) and back, and I won't be surprised if some passing policeman decides to arrest me on charges of suspicious appearance. As I think of it, I nervously slick back my hair in the desperate hope that it'll help. It doesn't. It makes Leo snort, though. "How have they worked as a couple for _two years?_ They seem so…different."

"You want the unbiased psychological standpoint?" he says casually, though his face seems to soften as he ponders it. "Well…they weren't supposed to work, actually. They started dating on a dare. But they've mostly found a middle ground. Reyna acts assertive and hardcore, but she's actually pretty lonely sometimes, and Frank is kind of like a sponge for soaking up other peoples' problems. And Frank is a bit of a tool when he thinks something is threatening, and Reyna's great at knocking him off his high horse when he gets too irrational." He smiles fondly. "They're similar enough that they can enjoy each other's presence, but different enough that they can balance each other. It's like opposites-attract, but less violent."

I do my best not to stare in surprise; I hadn't expected such an in-depth analysis – and I definitely hadn't expected his loving tone of voice. I hesitate as I search for the right words, but I know I won't find them so in the end I speak bluntly but softly in hopes that'll help. "You really care for them, don't you?"

His face splits into a grin the size of Texas. "They're my best friends," he tells me, sounding more cheerful than he has since I met him yesterday morning. "They mean the _world_ to me. They're the only ones who kept consistent contact after…" He trails off.

I can't help it. "After?" I prompt.

His expression darkens. "We should walk faster if we want to catch up," he mutters, lengthening his stride and refusing to speak. I purse my lips but don't push it.

Sometimes, it's easier to trust people with your life than it is to trust them with your past.

(And some things are meant to stay secrets.)

+x+

We reach the University of Kansas at about 2 AM, which I figure has to be at least slightly influenced by magic because though I can run, I can't run _that_ fast. I'm in a much better mood, despite the time and circumstances; I hate being cooped up in one building for more than a little while (I've slowly built my tolerance up to seven hours to account for school) and I'm about to see Antoine again. I'm a little nervous about meeting Meg, but judging from my visions I'm pretty sure we'll be fine in the end.

Di Angelo, though. And Levesque. They worry me quite a bit.

I don't voice this as we move; Leo is exuberantly explaining their pasts to me, my only chance to rest his occasional pause for breath. Within ten minutes, I learn more about Hades than I've ever wanted to know about any Greek gods in my entire life. I'm only half-listening, making "hm" noises and nodding whenever he seems to hit a lull. The great thing about talkative people is that you don't have to have _conversations_ with them – you just have to exist next to them.

"So," I interrupt about halfway through a rant about precious metals, "where _are_ they, exactly?"

He stops talking for a moment, blinking in apparent surprise. He shakes it off quickly, though, smiling wryly at me. "Sorry. I kind of got off track." He cards a hand through his hair, re-greasing it and probably making it so that 0.0% of girls will so much as glance our way except to give us weird looks. "Well, if they're as intelligent as I think they are, then they know this girl who goes to school here…hey, have you ever heard of Tristan McLean?"

"Um," I think, my entire face scrunching up in concentration. "Y…es? He's an actor, right? Some Greek film."

"_King of Sparta_," Leo says, sounding some cross between annoyed and amused.

"Yeah, that! He played Brasidas, right? Main character? Really historically inaccurate but still really good?"

"That's the one," he confirms. One of the wolves snap at us and we steer a little clearer. "Well, he has a daughter. Piper. She's a demigod – child of Aphrodite. She used to be my best friend, but we kind of grew apart. She's special, though." His eyes glitter like they did when he was talking about Hazel and Nico; some part of me is fascinated that anyone can love anyone so much, and part of me wants him to get to the point. "Anyway, she's here with a forensic science major – wants to get into the FBI or something. Gods know why, because she used to hate pretending to be things that she wasn't, but you do what you do, I guess."

"So you think that they found her," I surmise, "and that they're in her dorm."

"Yup. But I don't actually know which dorm number it is, and we can't make a rainbow without light." He makes a face. "Urg, we're gonna have to wander around until we find them I guess. Hey, can you guys meet us at the entrance to the school?" he asks the wolves; a few of them turn their heads, but most of them ignore us. "You're kind of attracting stares."

I don't bother to point out that we're probably attracting more stairs than the wolves, but one of them seems to agree with me because it snorts and tosses its head. It doesn't look like the leader of the pack, but it's still beautiful, with an auburn coat and beady black eyes. One of the other wolves bark loudly and the entire pack follows it except the red one, which trots closer and then nuzzles up to my leg.

"Um, your friends went that way," Leo points out unnecessarily. I roll my eyes.

"It's probably staying with us on purpose," I reason as I reach down to scratch its head; its ears flatten and if I didn't know better, I might say that it smiles at me. "For protection, and to lead the pack to us in case we can't make it to the entrance. It's pretty smart of them, actually."

He scrutinizes the wolf and I for a moment and then shrugs. "I kind of suck at animal shit, so whatever," he says brightly before hooking my arm in his and marching jovially. "Come on! _We're off to see the wizard – _"

"Leo!" I try to pull my arm out of his, but he has a vice grip on it. He winks at me and I flip him off with my free hand. He ignores it, pulling my upwards and continuing the song as loudly as is possible without waking up the not-pulling-an-all-nighter students. "Leo, lemme go!"

"Put some pep in that step, grandpa!" he says devilishly, his eye twinkling. I'm laughing too hard to even attempt protest by now and instead fall limp and let him drag me. "You're not even singing! Come on, what's the fun in that?"

"You're impossible," I snort, finally adhering to his insane whims; the wolf yelps and trots along faster to keep pace with us. I mentally apologize to it. "Man, this school's Dean is going to get _so_ pissed at you and you're going to get put in jail for disrupting the peace and I will laugh my ass off. I am never helping you again. Ever."

"And I have no idea how I'll ever survive that," he concedes cheerfully. "While that happens, I think now is a great time to mention that I can see Piper."

I stop short. "Leo! What the hell?"

"You mean 'what the Hades'. Man, you gotta get used to Greek mythology faster." His eyes twinkle and I can't help but smile at him. "Relax, shortie; she's coming this way. We grabbed her attention – with _my_ voice, obviously, because you suck at singing."

"Liar." I actually do suck at singing, but I'm argumentive anyway because. You know. Honor to defend and shit. "I have the best voice since Freddy Mercury and you know it."

He whistles. "That's a pretty big gamble. Are you _sure?_"

"Positive."

"How positive?"

"_Proton_ positive."

"Oh, so we're getting into science now, huh?" He smirks down at me and I feel irrationally short. "Well, I'll have you know that I got to study the work of Archimedes, so if you think that you can beat – "

"Leo!" a voice calls, and a look over to see a woman about Leo's age jogging towards us. She's pretty average looking; tan-skinned, brown-haired, wearing a University hoodie and carrying a knife. "Hey! How are you?" She comes to a stop next to us, gasping for breath.

"Hey, Beauty Queen," Leo grins, holding up a hand that she quickly high fives. "How're things going for you?"

"Not bad," she breathes, looking delighted to find someone she can vent to, even if it's only a little. "My roommate's a complete bitch. Still not dating anybody, but I've made some awesome friends. Hazel and Nico got here yesterday evening." She turns her eyes to me and smiles, looking friendly if a bit distant. "Hey, you must be Rey. Antoine's told me a lot about you since he got here. I'm Piper."

_Escapist_, whispers the voice in the back of my head that focuses on fatalities, but I nod and smile politely. "Nice to meet you," I greet. It's a far cry from my usual demeanor – pessimistic and angry – and I can tell Leo knows it by the way he shoots me an amused look, but Piper seems to buy it because her shoulders sag and she visibly relaxes. "Leo's been telling me about you, too. Child of Aphrodite, right? FBI?"

"Not in the FBI yet, but good guess," she laughs. She seem cheerful enough, but Leo's shooting her an odd look that makes me more suspicious than it probably should. I ignore it, though, and nod good-naturedly, allowing her to lead us as she starts to converse with him. The wolf ruts up against my leg again, and I stroke it almost absent-mindedly. I'm actually kind of fond of it already, which is more than a little pathetic.

I'm mentally berating myself about getting attached to things too quickly when we walk into the well-lit dorm building, populated entirely by 19- and 20-year-olds making really bad life choices that I don't allow myself to judge. Some raise their hands in greeting to Piper, but most of them quickly turn away when they see soot-stained Leo and me with a killer wolf. We walk up a flight of stairs and come to a stop outside of Room 211.

She doesn't get the chance to open the door before it flies open and Antoine is beaming at me; I can see an African-American woman and a sullen-looking man exchange amused looks. "Hey," my best friend greets breathlessly, beaming up at me.

_He missed me_, I realize, and some invisible weight lifts off my shoulders.

"Hey," I great, smiling crookedly as he reaches forwards and hugs me.

And for once, I let him.

+x+

_i don't wanna close my eyes  
i dont wanna fall asleep  
cause i miss you babe_

_**and i dont wanna miss a thang**_

+x+

**author's note**

song was chosen as a joke. #YOLO

thank you all for reviewing! like i am seriously super excited about this? but ive realized that theres something that i need to address, and im sorry i didnt do it earlier

guys, if you come onto the story, find out theres homosexuality, scream "EW" and leave a review saying "GAYS IM SO OUT" im not going to take you seriously. it is literally in the description that theres sexuality shit. the story deals with things like ptsd, homosexuality, autism/asperger's syndrome, and homophobia/transphobia/general non-equality bullshit. if you cant deal with that purely because youre an asshole, i dont really care that ive lost you as a reader. if any of these trigger you, than that's okay and im sorry because i know triggers suck, and this is your warning.

i dont think i did nearly as well making things clearer as i should have, ugh, ill have to keep working on that


	9. We Are Young

IX: Meg

We Are Young

He finds me on the balcony.

It's down the hall from Piper's dorm room, short and circular, with just enough space for two people to stand and talk together on. Piper had shown it to me last night, when she insisted I get some fresh air – 'to help speed up your wrist healing', she'd said. I hadn't voiced my doubt. It was a nice night, anyway.

It's a nice night tonight, too; I can't name any of the constellations but they're all crystal clear, beaming down in a vague attempt to light up the entire sky. I'm searching for the Big Dipper when I hear him open and close the door. I turn halfway to check who it is and we lock eyes. He nods briefly at me; I tip my head in response and then turn to watch the sky again. "Good night tonight," I say, leaning on the less than ornate fencing. "Warm."

My voice is guarded and my stance is guarded, but it's okay because so is his. "Clear out, too. No clouds to cover the constellations." He wraps his hands stiffly around the railing as he gazes upwards, mouthing the names of stars as he searches the sky. I take the moment to observe him – he's short, about my height, with shaggy black hair and eyes a mediocre muddy color. He's nothing horribly attractive, but he isn't ugly, either. If anything, I might say he's too average.

"So," he says quietly, and I look up to find him steadily holding my gaze. "You're the girl who knows things."

I don't ask him where he knows that from – seeing people's past lives isn't my only ability; I've seen some about his ability in the flashes of his memory. "So you're the boy who sees things," I counter, shifting my weight from my right leg to my left.

His mouth twitches up. He has a nice smile – pretty isn't the right word for it. "The girl who waited," he mumbles under his breath.

My eyebrows rise. "Is it really the time – "

"It's _always_ the time for Doctor Who references."

I smile at that; I turn away from him to watch the campus. A lovely teenage couple is laughing and holding hands on a bench next to the dorm across the street, trying (and failing) not to make their dreamy stares horribly noticeable. I watch them giggle idly for a few moments before I turn back to my companion. "So," I say, standing up straight and letting my hold on the railing fall, "you're the great and powerful Rey."

He snorts. "Hardly powerful – but pretty great, yeah." His smile falls as he scrutinizes me scientifically. I resist the urge to fidget, instead standing strong and proud beneath his gaze. His breath catches and I think I know why, but I'm scared of what he'll tell me if I ask. "Interesting," he announces finally, the lines in his forehead tightening.

"What do you see?" I ask when I can't help myself any longer. I look at people and see the past – the future is more volatile and more interesting and altogether far more fascinating. "I mean – about me. In the future. Is there anything that you can tell me? Anything at all?"

He hesitates, eyebrows knitting together, before his face clears and he nods slowly. "How about this," he offers, stuffing his hands in the pockets of his jeans and looking at the sky to avoid my eyes. "We know things about each other already, right? So we're skipping the acquaintance stage, because I know I can trust you and I know you can trust me." He glances at me and I nod – I know enough about his character through his past to know that he won't suddenly betray me, or anyone else, for that matter. "So let's skip the awkwardness. I will give you information about things that I know if you'll give me information about things that you know."

I think it over for a moment. "There are some things," I say slowly, "that I can't tell you."

He nods. "Same."

"Then I'm fine with it," I say, turning to gaze into the stars so that he won't look at me – and hopefully so that he can't see the redness in my cheeks. Demigods, I know, form bonds faster than most people, but…I've never been quite so compelled to talk to anyone as I am to Rey right now. I suspect it's something to do with Iolaus, but I also think it's something to do with the fact that I've never met anyone who _knows_ things the way we do. Knowing things about everyone you meet, but being incapable of mentioning them for fear of sounding crazy or stalker-ish – I understand that. _He_ understands that part of _me._

Actually, no, I don't like that idea. I don't like anyone treading into my territory. _But_, I remind myself, _our domains are still very different. He focuses on the future while I focus on the past._

Yes, I am still unique. Very unique and very lonely.

"So," I say in hopes of distracting myself from, well, myself, "what are some of your powers?"

He leans forwards and backwards, a kind of miniature pacing in thought. "Well," he starts before coughing loudly. "Well," he repeats, less throatily this time, "I can see the future, which I'm pretty sure you know already. Not _really far_ into the future, and no prophecies – but short bursts, sometimes little, sometimes not." He pauses, supposedly in thought. "Like, I'm 100% sure that Antoine is going to eat eggs for breakfast tomorrow morning."

"You mean this morning," I correct. "It's 2:30 AM."

"It's tomorrow until I get a few hours of sleep." I snort; he gives me a tiny smile before continuing. "I can see through the Mist, obviously – and yeah, Leo explained all that to me. I'm gonna assume someone explained it to you?"

"Piper did," I agree. "Yesterday – I mean, this morning."

He chuckles and I smile crookedly at the sound. Like his smile, it's nice – too masculine and tiny to be called pretty, but lacking the gaudiness of the word handsome. "I figured," he says, smile fading again. He never smiles for very long before his constant scowl comes back. I don't think I've ever met anyone who looks so constantly angry. "I can see things about people, sometimes, too, though I think that's more being observant plus amplification." He swallows dryly. "I know fatal flaws."

That startles me. "Huh?"

"Fatal flaws." I have him going, now, and I get the feeling it'll take a while – but that's okay, because I'm fascinated. "Everyone has one. It's every hero's or person's or villain's or whatever's greatest weakness – the one thing most likely to get them killed somehow. I know everyone's. I can look at anyone and see their future, but the first thing I know is always their fatal flaw."

I tilt my head and pull up one of my sleeves nervously; we weren't just making small talk earlier when we mentioned that it was warm outside. "If you don't mind," I say seriously, "could you tell me a few peoples'?"

He stares a moment – but he trusts me. I can see it in his eyes. I don't know what his visions have shown him, but whatever it is…well, I hope I live up to them. "Whose do you want to know?" he asks, eyeing me curiously.

I swallow. "Hazel's," I say. "Antoine's. Piper's. And…mine."

His smile twitches again, but when I blink it's gone. "Hazel's is materialism. She can't look past the surface of people or objects or anything – she would fall in love with someone based on the personality they projected rather than who they actually were, and if she had to travel to a city she would assume someone is a scumbag or a hero based on appearances." He pauses and then glances at me out of the corner of his eye. "No getting offended at me for any of this, alright? And don't share them with anyone."

"Swear it on the River Styx," I vow automatically. I think, as the sky rumbles, that it might be a little overdramatic, but trust usually isn't won this fast and I don't want him to think I'm unworthy.

He nods and continues. "Antoine's is that…well, he can't face himself. When things go wrong for him, he'll always find something or someone else to blame it on. He won't say 'I'm out of shape'. He'll say 'I haven't had to run for a while'. Piper's is that she's an escapist. She doesn't see people as human beings with flaws and dislikes and likes and quirks; she projects her own images onto them and finds tiny things to convince herself that she's right about them, like their body language or their choice of words." He hesitates. "No getting offended."

"I won't." My heart beats faster.

"Yours is…" He swallows but plows on. "Yours is that you're too self-absorbed. When someone has it worse than you, you come up with something that makes your own situation seem worse – and when you find someone who can sympathize, you find another way to estrange yourself." He paranoidly looks at me from the corner of his eye. "Please don't hit me."

My first instinct is to deny. Me? Self-absorbed? No way! I would rather be anyone but me. But slowly, staring at the stars and finally catching sight of the Big Dipper, I realize that he's right. Just a few minutes ago, I was refusing to admit that we had similar visions, convincing myself that I'm still unique and lonely. I look down at the gravel beneath us and frown. "I won't hit you," I reassure. My voice shakes and I hate myself for it. "I just…didn't know what to expect."

"I'm sorry," he says, and I'm startled by his gentle tone. "I suck at tact. But you're doing pretty well. When I told Antoine his, he flipped out and put a dent in the wall."

I look up, startled. "Antoine knows about his flaw?"

"Oh, yeah." His face is set in grim amusement. "There's not much that Antoine and I don't share. We're best friends for a reason."

"I figured that, I just – never mind." I shake my head. Luckily, he doesn't make a big deal of it. I cast him a curious glance as his eyes travel along the sky, occasionally zoning in on certain points that I assume are constellations. The question occurs to me suddenly, and I can't help but ask it. "What's yours?"

"Hm?" He's not paying me much attention anymore – he's too busy mouthing the names of constellations. I think I catch a _Hercules_, and I scowl.

"Your fatal flaw."

_That_ catches his attention. He looks at me, startled, and then looks down. "I don't know it from my visions," he mumbles, so quiet that I barely catch it. "I barely see anything about myself."

"But you know what it is," I prompt.

"Yes." He takes a deep breath and then speaks. "Wrath. I – " His voice catches. "When anything happens that challenges my comfort zone…I flip out. I act mindless. I just – " His lip trembles and I suddenly feel horrible for asking about this. "I just want to_ hurt_, regardless of how well I know the person or how close we are. I just want to cause as much pain as possible to them and whoever gets in my way."

I realize, suddenly, that his entire body is shaking. It's not cold out – I myself am wearing a hoodie that Piper let me borrow, and I'm a little warm – and my heart drops into my stomach. "I'm sorry," I say, but it's not enough and it doesn't heal anything.

"Not your fault," he mumbles. "I'm just a weakling."

"No you're not."

"Let's not do this," he pleads. I sigh in agreement and turn away. For a few minutes, while he composes myself and I hate him hate me hate the world for being wrong, the only sound is the crickets.

"So," he says when his breath is even again, "you promised me information in exchange."

It's about now that the balcony explodes.

+x+

_now i know that im not all that youve got  
i guess that i – i just thought  
maybe we could find new ways to fall apart  
but our friends are back, so lets raise a glass  
cause i found someone to_

_**carry me home tonight**_

+x+

**author's note**

WHAT IS THIS TWO CHAPTERS IN ONE DAY HAVE I GONE INSANE

nah, i just didn't meet my quota yesterday and figured i'd do a bunch today to make up for it

so congratulations, you get shipping ust! you crazy shipping motherfuckers

(will antrey be endgame? will reg be endgame? we just don't know)

this was actually mostly just a chapter to explain rey's powers a little better and get the fatal flaw thing out of the way, because flaws really do speak out a lot about characters


	10. C'mon

X: Meg

C'mon

My natural instinct through years of avoiding monsters is to guard my most vulnerable point, which is my wrist – though it's not broken anymore, it's definitely not healed. I clutch it to my chest and try to roll so that I don't land face-first. I end up rolling straight onto my feet, a shockingly good landing that barely jars me and definitely doesn't hurt anything too badly. Rey isn't so lucky – he hits the ground face-first; I wince and mentally thank the gods that the balcony is only on the first floor.

There are some banging noises inside the building and then sudden silence, but I ignore the sounds in favor of searching for our attacker. It doesn't take long; she's gone to no troubles to hide herself. She's small – about 12 years old, maybe a little younger – with a short, sleeveless pink dress that seems to puff out, one of those things you see in GAP catalogues around Easter. Her black hair is pulled into a neat bun, and her eyes glimmer every color imaginable.

I growl. "You!" I hiss; I take a step towards her – probably to do something I'll regret later – but Rey's groan draws me back to him instead. I frown in concern as he pushes himself off the ground, brushing some stray rubble from his back. Now that I think about it, it's a wonder we didn't get crushed. "You okay?" I ask, grabbing his arm to steady him as he tries to stand.

"'M fine," he mumbles, brushing me off but giving me what's clearly meant to be a grateful look. It's obvious that he's caught sight of our 'visitor' (though I much prefer the word 'mortal enemy') too, by the way his eyes widen slightly. "Who - ?"

I grit my teeth. "Our attacker." I turn away from him to bow mockingly at the girl's feet, making sure she doesn't miss my glare. "_Wonderful_ to see you again, Hebe."

The goddess of youth sniffs in disdain; I rise before she motions me to and she scowls. "Disrespectful as always, Megara King," she grumbles. "I don't know _why_ you hate me so."

"You destroyed my home," I point out. "And tried to kill me. And told an army of monsters where I was. Seven times."

"Details!" She throws up her arms; her face has the adorable poutiness of children, but I don't buy it. "I'm here to help you know. Is your pride going to get in the way of a goddess's assistance?"

"If it's you, then yes." I tap my foot impatiently. Hebe has never helped me before and I'm not about to believe she will now. "Any help that _you_ give us is more likely to kill us than save us. You can take your help and shove it up your – "

"Calm down," Rey interrupts, putting a hand on my shoulder; I consider jerking away from his grip, but he still looks shell-shocked from the fall and I figure this is taking all of his strength. I don't know how he'll react if I break his hold. "Um, Hebe – milady – it's very nice to meet you and everything, an honor, really, but we were kind of in the middle of a talk – and the trying to kill Meg thing, that should probably stop. Because, y'know. Prophecies."

She appraises him dully, and by the looks of it she isn't very impressed – unsurprising, as she couldn't tell good character if it punched her in her _stupid_ face. "I have relatively little against you, Rey Cabrera," she says. "You have done nothing to harm me – and you _are_ the sibling of the metic."

He tenses. "Metic?"

"Unimportant," she dismisses. "The point is, as of yet you have my favor. You would do well not to lose it."

It is at this exact moment that a figure rounds the corner, skids to a stop right in front of us, turns to me and yells with a psychotic grin, "So can I shoot shit?"

It takes a moment to get over my shock. "Antoine!" I hiss, beckoning him over; he happily plods along, bouncing to a stop between Rey and I. He looks unusually comfortable with the rifle in his hands, and I find myself edging away from his pure _glee_ at being dangerous. "Why the _Hades_ – "

"We heard something crash," he hums, eyes gleaming. "I told 'em I'd be okay. I've taken on _armies_ of creepy monsters with just a gun." He slaps Rey on the back; their faces seem to soften as they look at each other. "Saved his ass a bunch."

Rey scowls and brushes the hand off, but he's practically glowing. "Don't forget who told you where to shoot," he retorts. "You couldn't tell the humans from the monsters. If I hadn't been there to give you the go-ahead – "

"Man, those bullets couldn't hurt mortals anyway," Antoine snorts. I suddenly feel uncomfortable, an outsider – I knew, of course, that they're best friends, but it hasn't quite hit me how close they are until I see it in action. It's a little touching, actually, how they bounce off each other almost automatically, how they understand the subtle body language and the inside jokes. But it still hurts. "So," he adds, waving his gun in the general direction of Hebe, "I take it you got things covered…?"

"Something like that," I say, glad to have a reason to enter the conversation again. The tiny goddess across from us, who has been studying Antoine as if he might be worth something, jumps to attention at my voice, crossing her arms and glowering at me. "Miss We Are Young here decided to, ah,_ visit._"

"You should be honored!" she orders, looking miffed. "You're lucky I've _ever_ graced you with my presence, you ungrateful brat. What he ever saw in you – "

"Shut up." My hand is automatically reaching for my switchblade – which, I realize too late, Rey still has. "Shut _up_, or I swear to the gods you're going to regret it."

She wrinkles her nose. "Your attitude is so _unfortunate_," she grumbles. "We really could've been friends. Bonded together over all of the times he _cheated_ and treated us like _useless, disgusting_ pieces of _filth_ – "

I only realize that I've thrown myself at her when Rey and Antoine hold me back with my hands; my teeth are bared, eyes crazed. She backs away a few steps, almost tripping over herself as she goes. "Fuck you," I whisper, looking her dead in the eyes. "You don't deserve to walk on the same fucking _ground_ as him, you _ungrateful piece of shit_."

She blinks, eyes comically wide. Then she clears her throat and smiles nervously at us. "Almost forgot the reason I visited! Silly me," she chirps. "I actually came to tell you – don't go to Camp Jupiter."

I don't recognize the name, but Rey looks up sharply; his breath catches. "What?"

Her smile turns more genuine as she looks at him – and much more nervous. "Oh, dear, just trust me on this one," she hums. "Just tell your friends that I said Octavian would find the Valdez! That should convince them right away."

Rey is so shocked that he drops my arm. I've stopped fighting, anyway; I'm too concerned that she's going to hurt him somehow – false information or twisting words or anything else from her bag of tricks. "How – " He begins. He clears his throat and tries again. "How do you know about Leo?"

"I'm a goddess, Rey Cabrera," she reminds him, nose scrunching up. "And with that – I bid you good-bye." Her gaze turns stone cold. "Beware, Megara King; the next time we meet, I might not be so merciful." All three of us look away – and when we open our eyes again, she's gone.

"Sow," Antoine begins cautiously, "wanna explain…?"

I flop miserably to the ground. All of my fight has disappeared with Hebe; I'm not prepared to talk about this. "We liked the same guy once," I summarize shortly. "It ended badly." It's a bit of an understatement, but it'll have to do for now. Rey and Antoine exchange a look before Antoine drops unceremoniously and Rey squats next to us. I wouldn't call the shape that we're in a triangle, but it's definitely something three-sided and definitely something strange.

"Meg," Rey probes gently, concern flashing in his eyes, "if there's anything you want to tell us…"

I swallow and look at the sky. There are so many secrets that I can't tell them – about my dad, and about my past, and about my demons. And I have so many barriers that I can't break down. "I'm sorry," I mumble, drawing my knees up to my chest.

"Hey, it's cool," Antoine reassures; I glance over to find him smiling at me, though it's softer and less insane than it was before. "Besides, I don't care if that lady was a goddess or a peasant – anybody who messes with you messes with us from now one." His smile grows. "We're a team, right?"

My eyes widen and I look away quickly, cheeks warming up.

Team?

"Guys," I say urgently, "there are some things you don't want to know about me. I mean, if we're going to be…friends – then I want you to know what you're getting into." I look them straight in the eye, one by one. "I'm probably just going to be a lot of trouble."

"Are you kidding? Trouble's my middle name," Antoine snorts.

Rey sighs. "I think I can manage two of you. Barely." He gives me a wry look. "_You're_ not allowed near a gun, though, alright?"

"Duh," I shrug. "I just want my switchblades back."

"They're in Piper's room." He sounds guilty – I don't blame him, but I smile softly to prove that all is forgiven. He lets out a breath and then looks up at the sky. "So what do we do now?"

"You're always the guy with the plan," Antoine points out. "You mentioned something about Portland…? And we can't go to the Camp place, obviously." Once again, they exchange looks, thousands of conversations taking place between their eyes alone. "We'll figure it out."

"We always have before," Rey agrees. I think he's trying to sound reassuring, but I feel even more lonely – I've never had anyone to figure things out with me. I don't have a best friend like the two of them have. I feel so estranged from the people around me, and it hurts.

I wonder, briefly, if fatal flaws can be destroyed.

"We should go back inside," I say finally, avoiding their eyes as I stand awkwardly. I see Rey wince as he stumbles to stand with me, and concern flashes across my face. "Are you okay? You fell pretty hard – "

"I'm fine, just a headache." He waves off my attempts to fuss over him as Antoine stands and watches us, looking distinctly amused. He shudders and his hand instinctively goes to his head; I try to help him again but his expression wards me off. "It'll go away in a while."

"Hey," Antoine says suddenly, and I look away from Rey to find the tallest of us looking as awkward and gangly as he actually is, hands linked behind his back. He's looking from me to Rey uneasily, wrinkles creasing at his forehead. "We're all friends, right? I mean…" He pauses to articulate. "We're _actually_ a team?"

Rey and I exchange looks.

He offers his hands to both of us – and with some surprise, we both take them.

"Yes," Rey says, looking at both of us with a secret smile. "Friends."

Something inside of me glows – a real glowing, not the fake shining that comes when I'm trying to convince myself that I'm okay being alone. Antoine is beaming at me over Rey's head. We don't need to be physically linked to each other – none of us do.

We walk inside holding hands, anyway.

Sometimes, I think that maybe I'm not so lonely, after all.

+x+

_when i am ten feet tall - ive never felt much smaller since the fall  
nobody seems to know my name  
so don't leave me to sleep alone  
may we_

_**stay lost on our way home?**_

+x+

**author's note**

I HAVE A LOT OF FRIENDSHIP FEELINGS ABOUT MY OC TRIO OKAY

seriously though, these three have a shitload of secrets. im really looking forward to watching them get to know each other. especially looking forward to Antoine figuring out his past, because that will be som character development

this was a shittily written chapter, but I'm not letting myself revise anything major until December, so heres hoping next one will be better


	11. Those Voices

XI: Antoine

Those Voices

I spend two hours and fifteen minutes rapping.

Rey had wisely bestowed his ear buds and iPod (which one of the older members of our group had apparently magicked out of thin air in exchange for making him throw away his phone because it's dangerous) upon Meg, who passes the time periodically turning the music up and glaring at passing squirrels, and Leo had built some strange musical thingy within a few seconds and hasn't looked away from the road yet. The Chevy truck is nice, roomy, and above all stolen, just like the SUV Piper, Hazel, and Nico, stumbled upon. After getting that fabulous message from the goddess of hating teenage girls (Herb or something), we had decided to get to Portland as fast as possible. So after Hazel and Piper had called in sick at their classes and Leo had Iris messaged some Chinese guy – _"What the Hades is with seers and Portland?" "Um…"_ – we had taken to the streets in search of whatever transportation we could find.

So yeah, I'm rapping in the backseat of a Chevy truck while Rey smiles secretly and deliberately keeps his eyes facing forward. I don't rap in front of a lot of people. It's part of being an artist, I guess – writers usually don't offer their manuscripts to random strangers, painters generally don't stand with a hundred chairs behind them in case anyone wants to watch them. Any art can be a flop, no matter how good the artist, and the idea that someone might see one of the few (or many) failures is mortifying.

I'm not exactly a professional, anyway – my rhymes aren't as sick as Rey and I joke about them being. It helps, though. It shuts up all of the arguing that goes on in my head, and it makes me feel better about myself, if only for a brief amount of time. I can go on forever, too. If words were food I'd be the chubbiest motherfucker on this side of the universe.

_"Camisado and a god damn arms race / but it's only the mirror that you can't face / who says TV's the one to blame? / who says we all aren't exactly the same?"_ Like I said, not very good. I actually suck a lot compared to people like Eminem and will. and even Snoop Dogg (Lion?), but I'm calmer now. I feel better – healthier, somehow.

Rey's lips are pursed to hide his smile as he purposefully turns to look out the window, and my eyes soften. I think he enjoys learning about me. Gods know why, because I'm nowhere near interesting, but he's a bit of a weirdo anyway. We're weird together. _Very_ weird together.

And I wouldn't have it any other way.

I turn away from him and hide my smile – now is the time to lay down some not-so-sweet beats, not to get creepily emotional over my best friend. I return to the lyrics, pretending that I didn't just accidentally start into 'Love the Way You Lie'.

I'm just about to say "Kick it, Obama" and pretend to be Skrillex via a lot of _wooosh_ dubstep-y noises when the car explodes.

+x+

'Explodes', actually, is technically inaccurate; it actually swerves into a ditch and rolls about five times. It definitely _feels_ like an explosion, though, and it's only because of the seatbelts that we don't all get concussions off the ceiling; such as it is, Rey groans and holds his head – I remember, too late, that he'd hurt his head the night before when Ms. Youth came a-calling. I push my guilt aside. Rey's tough. He's gone through way worse.

"Monster." Meg points out the obvious, staring dumbstruck out of her currently cracked window. "I…" She swallows and licks her lips, snatching the earphones and powering down the iPod to stuff in her pocket. That brings me to attention. She's been studiously ignoring us the entire time – whatever this shit is, it must be pretty bad. "What _is_ that?"

"My door's stuck," Leo reports above Rey's curses as he rubs his forehead. "Can any of you open yours?"

We all try, but the only who manages to force theirs open is Meg, who immediately dives out, turning to offer a hand and help with the rest of us. Within a few minutes, we manage to get everyone out. "That's weird," I frown, putting up a hand to shield my eyes from the sun; it's probably around 1:00 PM, and it hasn't quite hit the point where it gets dark at 6 yet. "The monster is still, like…a mile away." I regard it again. "It's a _really big_ monster a mile away," I say, nose scrunching up – monsters always smell like old gym socks – "but it's still pretty far."

"How is that weird?" Rey asks curiously. I allow myself a moment to stare before I realize that he's wavering where he stands, eyes strangely half-lidded.

"I was just wondering how the car could've got thrown off course," I say, grabbing his arm uneasily. "Hey, you okay, man? Usually you're the one yelling at me for being stupid."

"Yeah, you don't so good, Rey," Leo agrees, lips pursing. I wonder vaguely what he'd done with his music thingy before realizing that he can probably just build another one. "Maybe we need to get you out of here."

"I'm fine," Rey insists. He doesn't _look_ fine; he looks paler every moment that we waste, and he's starting to cradle his head more tightly now, his knees shaking. "Guys – that thing is coming up on us _now_."

He's right, of course – but we can't try and kill this thing while trying to protect him. The three of us exchange looks. "You two have weapons," Leo urges. "You hold this…_thing_ off. I'll get Rey somewhere safe and contact the others. Iris message me and we'll figure out a place to meet."

"If you don't have a weapon, then how will you protect him if we fail?" Meg protests.

Leo's eyes gleam, and suddenly I wonder if building faux iPods is the only power he has. "Just because I don't have weapons doesn't mean I'm not the most dangerous _ladrón_ you'll ever meet. Besides, I'm older than you. More training. More…well, not more intelligence, but you get the gist." He grabs Rey, wedding style, ignoring the smaller's protests; then he fixes us both with a half-serious look. "Good luck," he says. He takes our nods as affirmations and turns to jog away from us.

I grin at Meg, who's eyeing me with half speculation and half amusement. "You have an idea, don't you?" I ask suddenly, smile fading. "About why the car swerved."

Her half-smile quickly turns to a scowl, and she turns away to flip out her switchblade. "Hebe has tried to kill me before," she sighs, glaring at the ground. "And she visited us yesterday…I'm just paranoid, I guess." She scowls.

"Hey." I put my hand on her shoulder and she glances up, surprise written all over her face. "We're demigods. Nothing is paranoid for us. Besides, I trust you, and if you think something's wrong then I'll stand by you. Okay?"

She stares for a moment. We meet each other's eyes.

Then she smiles softly. "Alright," she agrees, taking a deep breath. "Let's give it Hades, huh?"

"Hell yeah," I grin, and we both turn to face a ten-foot-tall monster.

+x+

I'm going to be honest, the last thing I imagined myself doing in the middle of my junior year of high school is taking down a centaur.

It's definitely what I'm doing, though – not the kind of centaur that Nico had mentioned in passing, but something that snarls and sneers and does its best to kill us and eat us. I'd die exactly eight times except that Meg is always there to block it and slash at its hand, making it draw back with a roar of pain. I try to repay the favor as much as I can, but it just doesn't go for her as much as it goes for me.

It says things, too, while it attempts to do battle and we succeed at hacking it into a hundred pieces. "Godling!" it yells at Meg while it attempts to slash down. No archery for this guy – he goes straight for the gold. "Demon!" he hollers, striking at me. "Foolish!" he adds for good measure.

Only two syllables at a time, I guess. Even _I_ have a better vocabulary than him.

At some point along the line it almost gets Meg directly in the heart and I go nuts, dipping and diving and slashing; I dive for the back of its knee and it ends up on its stomach with my gun pointed at the back of its head. "Persistent motherfucker," I grumble. Its dreadlocks are a sight to see, filled with buttons and various other tiny objects that get tangled easily. "Is it cool if I finish him off, or do you want the honors?"

"Go ahead," she says, looking relieved; she hasn't put away her blade quite yet, but she looks ready to drop, eyes drooping tiredly. We only got to sleep at around 3 or 4 in the morning – now that I think about it, I'm feeling pretty exhausted, too. I refuse to let it show, though, instead putting my gun to the back of the centaur's head and fingering the trigger.

It turns slightly – just enough that I can see its face, distortedly gruesome and covered with dirt.

"Traitor," it croaks.

My hand trembles while I shoot it.

I get it multiple times, just in case, and the dust settling on the ground is my cue to stop. I'm frozen in place; it's only when Meg gives my shoulder a rough shake that I tune back in. _Traitor_, whispers a gleeful voice in the back of my head. _I'm right. You're wrong. It won't be long until they fully recognize you as one of their own._

_ Shut up,_ I tell the voice. This is really not a good time for me.

"Traitor?" Meg asks, concern edging into her voice; I glance up, and she takes back her hand, startled by my expression. "Antoine – are you okay?"

"'m fine," I mumble, turning away from her. I am not prepared for this. I'm not prepared for anything. It doesn't help that I'm tired and so is she – though I'll admit that her concerned frown is touching. It seems like we've spent most of our time being concerned for each other since we've met. I wonder, briefly, if that's a demigod thing.

"No, you're not," she insists, scowling. I jerk away as she tries to grab my arm again, and she withdraws as if burned. "Antoine, I can't help you if you don't let me."

I burst. I have to talk – about something. There are eight million things that are bothering me right now…but I choose the one that she knows of, and (if you ask me) one of the most important. "I'm worried, okay?" I snarl. "I'm fucking worried. Rey looked like he was about to die and you look like you're about to collapse, and I can't do shit to help either of you."

She stares. Blinks. Suddenly I feel horrible – this isn't even most of what's bothering me, and I'm still freaking her out with it. "Forget it," I mumble turning to walk away.

"Antoine – "

"I _said_ forget it!"

_You can kill her._

Fuck. It's the voice again. _Go away,_ I think as I walk away from where Meg is still standing, dumbstruck. _I'm not going to hurt my friends._

_ You're _still _resisting?_ It sounds amused. I grit my teeth. _I've been working so long…hm. I'll just have to show you, I suppose._

That makes me stop in my tracks. _Wait. What?_

I realize that my knees are shaking – I'm having trouble standing upright. "Antoine!" Meg says; she's only a few feet away, but her voice is tinny and faraway, like she's on a radio that isn't getting such great reception. _No!_ the voice screams at me. _She's interfering! Stop! I have – _

I collapse.

I feel Meg catch me just before the world turns black.

+x+

_i know you – ive seen you in a dream  
an old familiar scene from somewhere  
you know me? there's a glowing in your eyes  
i know and recognize from somewhere_

_**those voices singing out  
la la la la la**_

+x+

**author's note**

UGH WHAT IS ROMANCE

THIS IS WHY I CANT HAVE NICE THINGS

enjoy i guess. hopefully there'll be more inspiration for the next one


	12. It's Not Over Yet

XII: Antoine

It's Not Over Yet

"Huh," says the goddess that I dream of staring at me, "you're not nearly as handsome as Hebe made you out to be."

I wince as I sit up, rubbing my head. "Um," I manage through a dry mouth, because apparently anxiety isn't something you can cure via dreamland. I take a moment to look around – the room is something straight out of a sports commercial, with weights on a rack in the corner and weighted machines lining the walls. In the middle, dressed in only a sports bra and athletic shorts, is a muscular white college-age girl with blonde hair pulled into a ponytail and brown eyes that gleam. She'd look pretty normal, if not for the feathery white angel's wings that stick out of her back.

"Um," I repeat, dumbstruck.

She tuts. "Oh, don't worry, you're pretty good looking. I can see why the metic's brother is attracted to you. But personally – well, I like the muscle-bound type, myself."

I stare blankly. I'm sure I look like a complete idiot, but I'll be honest, it's not my biggest concern right now. "Medic? I don't know any doctor's siblings."

"Not medic, dear," she say. "_Metic._ With a t. Do a Google search or something – actually, if you could, do me a favor and use Yahoo. Hermes owns Google and I don't want him to get any more money than he already has." She frowns and tugs at the laces of her _Just Do It_ shoes. "Word of advice: never do anything for Hermes. I'm your patron and we've been rivals for years, so he'll probably give you some ridiculous quest just to piss me off."

I scramble to think of any sort of god or goddess who's ever hated Hermes, but nothing comes up – as far as I can remember, he was a pretty charismatic guy. If you _didn't_ like Hermes, there was probably some guy showing up on your doorstep with a scroll listing why you should. "And you and Hermes are rivals because…?" I ask slowly.

"Oh – he owns Adidas." She scowls. "Overpriced as shit, too. It was probably his worst idea."

"Adidas – oh, wait." I think about the logo on her shoes and the wings on her back and her apparent hatred of overpriced sports equipment stores. "You're Nike, goddess of victory. Right?'

"Don't sell me short," she protests, though her eyes glitter. "I'm the goddess of victory _and_ strength _and_ speed. Of course, my brother Kratos is the god of strength, if you want to get technical – but that's strength in _war._" She smiles warmly at me and my stomach flops. "You don't _need_ strength in war. If you did, I wouldn't be connected to you."

"Connected?" I suddenly realize that I'm still sitting on the floor, and even though the plush carpet is comfortable I'd rather be looking Nike in the eye; I scramble up and she seems to understand, waving a wooden chair into existence for me to sit on. "I'm sorry, um, Your Highness, but how are we connected?"

"Just call me Nike – or Bill Bowerman or Phil Knight, if you want to use the codenames I run my company with." She eyes me curiously. "So Leo hasn't explained to you about patrons yet?"

"No – he's mentioned them in passing a few times, I think, but he hasn't said anything in depth."

"He probably hasn't had time," she muses, more to herself than to me. That's not to say I can't hear her clear as day. "Plus, he's probably scared of you, me being your patron and all."

That startles me; I lean forward in my seat, eyes probing curiously. "Scared?" I ask, eyebrows raised and lips pursed. I get the feeling by the guilty expression on her face that she's let more slip than she intended, but she nods reluctantly anyway. "Why would he be scared of me? Even with you backing me up…he's 22 and I'm 16. Plus, he has _powers_. The only thing I'm good at is smelling shit. Why would he ever be scared of me?"

She hesitates, regarding me with a small frown; I shift uncomfortably. It's her wings that are freaking me out, mostly. They're the reason she's not wearing a shirt, first off – and _hot damn_ is that awkward, this girl has_ abs_ – but it's more than that, too. It's the way that the feathers overlap in a seemingly infinite number of layers, each extending farther outwards than the last. It's the way that it's all pure white except for exactly three grey feathers, two on the left side and one on the right, awkwardly spaced. She takes advantage of my apparent awe to change the subject. "Hey, bro, you can touch them if you want."

I look up sharply. "_Bro?_" I say, trying to keep the amusement of my voice.

"Hell yeah," she replies with a cheeky grin. "I swear I won't bite. Go ahead."

I hesitate for a moment, but at her encouraging nod I reach out and stroke the feathers, wonder filling my face. They're soft and pillowy, not at all like the bird feathers that they appear to be – I force myself to draw back, refusing to let my fascination take hold of me. "Is that…" I pause and reword. "Since we're – _connected_ – are these why I – "

"Dream about flying?" she finishes for me, something glinting in her eyes. "Maybe. It probably has something to do with your last life, too. Or you might just have an honest interest in hurling yourself thousands of feet into the air. Who knows?"

"You're a goddess," I point out, though I'm relieved to find that my dreams aren't prophetic. I don't do the crazy seer thing. I'd probably fuck it up if I tried. "Don't you know 99 percent of everything?"

"You _are_ the one percent, Antoine," she snorts. I'd like to believe that she's joking, but the horrible sinking feeling in my stomach tells me otherwise. "This isn't what I brought you here to talk about at _all._ I mean – I wanted to get you out of Molpe's grasp, of course, and that was important, but there's something I needed to talk to you about. Other than how much better Nike is than Adidas. Because it is."

"I feel like I've walked into a bad commercial," I grumble. I don't bother to ask who Molpe is. No one ever gives me straight answers, anyway. "So what do you want to talk about?"

For a moment, I think she's going to make me start working with the machines, her expression becomes so uncharacteristically serious. Instead, she looks me dead in the eye and says – no sugarcoating, no warnings, no 'you might need to sit down because this conversation's gonna be rough' – "Your team."

I get the feeling that there's gonna be a lot of people on my 'team' by the time this whole thing is over, but when it comes to _immediate_ team members, there are two people that come to mind almost automatically. "Hey," I protest, "wait a sec. I've known Rey my whole life and he's totally awesome. We're tight. And Meg – she's saved my ass so many time that she deserves a medal in the butt-kicking Olympics. There's nothing wrong with either of them!"

"I wasn't saying that!" Nike protests immediately, shaking her head. "I have no problem with your friends. I mean, Rey – he runs. You're no weakling, but he's fucking _fast_. I will never disapprove of fast people. And Meg's been fighting monsters since before you knew they existed. I know that they're gonna be great for you. Just – " She hesitates and runs her hand through her hair; some of her bangs fall out of her ponytail to halfway cover her eyes. "I wanted to talk to you," she sighs mournfully, "about their patrons."

_Patrons._ There it is again. "First, explain," I insist. "What the Hades are patrons?"

She hesitates, but I get the feeling it's less because she's stalling and more because she's fumbling for words – odd, coming from the goddess of victory. "Patrons," she begins after carefully gathering her bearings, "are certain gods and goddesses who are designated to a certain hero to protect them and help them along. They're usually connected by a prophecy, and once you've found a patron you're bonded forever. The god and the mortal have no choice in whether it happens or not – it's entirely the Fates' decision." She makes a face at me. "So basically, we stop each other from dying. Usually a lot. And there's also this concept about avatars, but there's no way in Hades I'm getting into that right now."

I shrug it off reluctantly. I'm not in the mood to hear about air bending, anyway. "So you're my patron." I take a moment to think that over before smiling lopsidedly. "Cool."

She grins at me. "Fuck yeah, it's cool. But like I said – I want to warn you about your friends' patrons. They don't hate me, but…" Her brow creases. "Better safe than sorry, you know?"

I hesitate for a moment – how can anyone associated with Rey and Meg want to hurt me? – before I realize that I definitely wouldn't want them to meet some of the people _I _know. "Lay it on me," I say, doing my best to sound confident.

She smirks. "Alright. Meg's patron is basically my exact opposite and is basically the source of all depression and sadness, ever. He was raised by a single mother – goddess of the night, Nyx, also crazy depressing – and he's brother of the Fates, which mean he has more effect on destiny than any of the other patrons. I can't give you his name, because the Fates are kind of bitchy about shit like that, but if you kind find WiFi anywhere just Yahoo it. Please don't use Google."

"No Google ever again, got it," I report, saluting. She snorts.

"I can't tell you as much about Rey's patron," she continues, lips pursed. "I don't think I've ever talked to her before. She had connections to Rey even before this whole patron business – many more than you might think. And her destiny is hopelessly intertwined with Meg's, too."

"Why?"

"They're half-sisters." She plows on before I can say anything. "The most important thing I can tell you is that you need to bring her stars. Shitty glow in the dark stars, actual honest to gods stardust, a certificate saying you own a star – anything. She'll be much less likely to kill you that way." She pauses to think. "It'd also be helpful to know a little bit about the planets – just in case."

The edges of the scene start to blur. The room shudders and my chair slides down the floor with an angry shriek of wood scraping. "Fuck," Nike swears, "you're starting to wake up. Alright, just calm – _shit_, that's the weight rack!" She dashes over and barely manages to keep the long row stable. I try not to feel guilty. She breathes a sigh of relief as the room starts to straighten itself. "Alright, I've denied the Fates long enough," she muses.

"Denied the Fates?" I feel a little queasy – this is starting to become an out of body experience. "But you said earlier – "

"This wasn't a destined meeting," she says, frowning at the slightly askew walls. "There are some ways we can get around it – but sometimes, gods have to follow the fates."

"I'm gonna wake up," I warn as the image of the room begins to meld with the blackness behind my eyelids. "Anything else you need to tell me?"

She hesitates a moment, working her lower lip between her teeth, before she brightens. "Oh! Don't forget – beware Zeus' wife. It's too dangerous for me to say her name, but – well. She is the _ultimate_ villain that you will have to face."

"Zeus' wife?" I demand, bewildered. That's…Hera, right? But why would she hate us?

"You'll figure it out later," she promises, half-smiling and waving as I go. "I'll talk to you later!"

I open my eyes to find myself being carried around in Meg's arms, bridal style. I pale. I inwardly flip out. I feel horrible for losing control and making her worry so much that she has to carry me around to go get us help.

But in the end, I just snuggle closer to her and try to go back to sleep.

+x+

_our history is nothing more  
than what the losers settle for  
so look alive and don't forget that_

_**its not over yet**_

+x+

**author's note**

the song makes more sense once you know who the villain is, trust me on this one

i have not been meeting my quota WHAT IF I DON'T MAKE IT TO 50000

nah ill make it to 50000. im p cool like that

reviews y/y


	13. Secrets

XIII: Rey

Secrets

At least I'm not in a warehouse when I wake up this time.

Yeah, my dream wasn't symbolic or deep or even particularly disturbing – just a normal dream, the type that teenage boys have all the time. (No, not _that_ type of dream teenage boys have all the time. Gods.) The entire time was spent searching for the boy who'd stolen my favorite Pokémon card, Agumon (who, I should mention, is a Digimon; suck it, fanboys) and who turned out to be the rabbit from Trix. The dream ended by me throwing myself valiantly into a giant tub of peanut butter to save my mother, who decided to take the card for herself.

Like I said, my dreams aren't particularly enlightening. It's when I'm awake that I learn shit. Judging by the fact that I am definitely not dead via copious amounts of peanut butter, and that I'm currently spread across two seats of a train, I'm pretty sure I'm awake.

Leo is sitting across the aisle from me, and when I sit up he looks away from the magazine that I have no doubt he stole. "Hey, Sleeping Beauty," he greets with a small smile; I hold up a hand in greeting, and his expression fades to concern. "How's your head? You were complaining about it before you fell asleep, and you looked pretty bad."

"I'm fine," I mumble before my head throbs and I wince. "Actually I lied. Do we have any ambrosia?"

"Yeah, Piper and Hazel packed some in our bag before we split up." He frowns as he digs through his pocket, eyes almost crossed in conversation. "That's back at the car, of course, but I had some on me just in case – aha!" He brightens as he pulls out two blocks of the godly food he had explained to me back in the warehouse. "Here, man. Eat up."

I hesitate before reaching across the aisle and letting him drop it into my palm; I throw them all into my mouth at once. They taste like cherry coke in food form – like someone had frozen it and let it thaw. "Holy shit you're right, this is fucking delicious," I manage around a mouthful of drool and pure tastiness. "How do they _make_ this stuff?"

"Godly ingredients," he supplies, lips twitching up. "And a _lot_ of magic. Feeling better?"

"Yeah," I reply truthfully. The pain is subsiding quickly and when I catch a glimpse of my face in the window, my eyes aren't so dilated anymore. "Hey, what's with the train? Have we found a meeting place?"

"Yeah – we're catching up with Meg and Antoine in Salem. When I Iris Messaged, Meg said she'd found a way to get around." He shakes his head, expression strangely convulsed, as if he isn't sure whether to be amused or annoyed. "She's a keeper."

"I choose friends well," I shrug idly. He snorts.

"You're friends with _me,_" he points out, eyebrows raised. A few rows in front of us, a heavyset man with a mustache snorts loudly in his sleep, and we both jump. "Shit! Let's keep it down, okay, _amigo?_"

"You're a good friend," I insist, though I keep my voice low – though neither of us realized it, we must have been getting louder the entire time we talked. "You've helped me out of a lot of shit. Plus, whenever the groups get divided we always seem to end up together." He opens his mouth like he's about to argue, but I put my hand up to stop him. "It doesn't matter _what_ you do for a living. You're a cool dude, okay? Not a hero, maybe. But a good guy."

I can't tell if he's touched or indignant, but either way he heaves a sigh and decides not to argue.

Before anybody asks, Leo's a thief – it's one of those things that he explained to me back in the warehouse, albeit the only one that had made him turn his eyes towards the ground and turn red right up to his ears. It's never anything big, because he has too many morals like that, but he can automatically unlock any safe that he touches and he's apparently had training in pickpocketing people (he didn't explain and I didn't want to know). I got the feeling that the other adults knew this, but I was also pretty sure it isn't something he wants me sharing, so Antoine and Meg don't know.

He turns back to his car magazine and we fall into a comfortable silence; I rest my cheek against the window and watch the trees pass. It's nighttime – I wonder, vaguely, how long I've been out for. A long time, judging by the fact that the moon is right at its peak in the sky. I wish I hadn't given Meg my iPod, but I can't say I'm not glad I got to hear Antoine rap (though the Love The Way You Lie was a bit unprecedented).

I miss them. It hits me and I feel strange about it, because we've been away longer before and I only know Meg through her future…but I do. I like being friends.

I like being a team.

It passes my mind that maybe Leo was like this, once – maybe he had a boy he was hopelessly, unfortunately in love with and a girl who understood him. Maybe he was constantly feeling like the inferior one. I want to ask him, but I don't want to intrude upon his personal space. Our friendship – if you can call it that – is strange enough as it is. I don't want to push him past what he's comfortable with.

I'm curious, though. He's the only one who's given me any answers.

Maybe if I mention it in passing, he'll take the hint?

It's desperate, but it's my best option so I go ahead and give it a try. "Hey." He looks up, eyebrows arching. I stare him straight in the eyes. They're nice, I suppose – a bland shade of brown that twinkles for no good reason. "Why do you speak Spanish? I mean, I get that you're Hispanic…but aren't you Spanish-American?"

Wow, Rey. Great job being subtle. I inwardly wince and berate myself – but instead of offended, he looks thoughtfully composed, or as composed as Leo ever gets, anyway. "My mom, mostly," he says finally, staring out of the corner of his eye at the ceiling, less to avoid me and more because he's in thought. "She used it a lot while I was growing up. It was only after she died that I learned that not everybody speaks it…but I still use it whenever can. Reminds me of my origins, I guess." He smiles crookedly. "What about you? I haven't heard anything about your parents, either."

I hesitate for a moment, threading my fingers together. It's weird to be talking so openly with another person – but the few other passengers on the train are sleeping, and if there's anyone that I can be certain that I trust at this point, it's Leo. "My parents are Mexican," I say softly. "So was my brother – born in Chihuahua. They didn't know very much English, so I had to learn it to use around the house." I pause and clear my throat awkwardly as he watches, silently prodding for me. "My family – they were illegals. I'm the only one who wasn't, being born in Arizona. When my brother died, in a car accident…the cops did a study and my parents got sent back to Mexico. I went to a foster home."

His eyes have softened. "Ran away within the first few days?"

I nod, questions painting my face. "I couldn't stand how _uniform_ the first family was. How did you know?"

"Been through something like that." He swallow and looks down. "My mom got killed by Mother Nature."

I blink. "What?"

I get the feeling he's explained the story a million times by now, but he tells it to me in a soft voice anyway – about his mother locked in the machine room, about the goddess Gaea tricking him, and between the lines, about his perpetual guilt. And he tells me about fire – how he can control it, harness it, and create it. I can't say I'm surprised, but I'm still wide-eyed by the time he's done.

There's a moment of dark silence when he's finished. Then I speak. "It helped you later, didn't I?" I ask softly. "Your power over fire. You mentioned – you keep saying that you're not a hero. And that you're balanced. But you're on the good side, and Gaea…you had to stop her, didn't you? You had to be a hero once. You're too powerful _not_ to have been."

He shifts uncomfortably. "Yes," he admits, "but that was years ago – back when I was your age. It's been a long time since I've done anything heroic." He scrutinizes me with a small frown. "Alright, I've shared something deep and beautifully tragic about myself. Your turn."

"'Beautifully tragic'?" I snort.

He smirks. "Less avoiding, more exposition."

I hesitate before turning my eyes to the carpet – and I explain, in as many words as I need, how my brother died. I tell him how Mr. Strauss and Mr. Nemur, police partners, had been in charge of the investigation on what truck driver did a hit and run, and how their unusual curiosity led to the discovery of my parents and the resulting deportation. I explain the way a pretty girl with black hairs and bright eyes had put a glow-in-the-dark star on my brother's coffin just before he was buried. I explained how unnaturally perfect the first family was, how they boxed me in.

"I'll find them, one day," I add fiercely; he's been watching me with a small smile for gods know how long now, but I can't seem to stop talking. "My parents. I'm going to go to Mexico and find them, and them I'm going to _legally_ get them into the US and they'll become actual citizens – and I'll buy them a Ferrari and a giant house. They've probably had more kids by now, because _mama_ always wanted more, and I'll pay their way to college and whatever career they choose. They are going to have the best lives _ever._"

I wait for him to tear me down. So many people have looked at me, smiles dripping with sympathy, and shot me down, told me how impossible it is to find one family among thousands. But Leo just nods. "I'll help you find them," he offers.

My head spins. "Seriously?"

"Yeah, man." He smirks at me. "I know you're gonna be a bigshot and all, but I wanna be there to see you reunite with your family. Plus, I want to meet whatever weirdos could've had _you_ as a child."

I snort. "Jerk."

"You love it."

He smiles at me from across the row and I make a face, looking away. I'm used to scowling and grouching in the face of caring and emotions – but somehow, I can't bring myself to be that douche to Leo. "Hey, when are we getting there?" I change the subject – I don't know how many feelings I can talk about in one day without imploding. Plus, I've known him for less than a week and mortals don't form bonds as fast as demigods.

"We're probably almost there, actually," he hums off-handedly. I jerk upwards.

_"Almost there?_" I gape. "What the hell? We were at least another day away back at the car – and you had a while before you could get to the train."

He winks. "I have my ways of traveling." The train suddenly screeches to a halt, and we both fall forward before forcing ourselves back. I glance out the window and find that we're in the middle of a bustling city, despite the darkness outside. He stands and stretches his arms before offering me his hand, smirking. "I think," he says, "that it's about time you meet my patron."

+x+

_tell me what you want to hear  
something thatll like those ears  
im sick of all the insincere_

_**im gonna give all my secrets away**_

+x+

**author's note**

is there actually a train station in salem? WHO KNOWS

guys i don't think you all understand how much i love reviews. like i shriek and flip out and generally bother my family being overly cheerful whenever it happens. its horribly unrefined. you should keep doing it

two chapters in a row of people just sitting around and talking, jesus. its about time for some action~


	14. Apologize

XIV: Rey

Apologize

We meet the woman with the Pac Man motorcycle at 3:40 in the morning, and she's dressed in a police uniform – exactly like the one Dr. Strauss used to wear, the 'Arizona State' star on her sleeve and everything. I squeak and freeze up, but Leo tugs on my arm and I stumble forward, scowling. Meg and Antoine are standing next to her, scowling with a hatred that I don't quite understand, seeing as neither of them have ever had any run ins with the police, so far as I know. I mean, Antoine usually loves them. They're the people who put us in Abattoir Boarding School, actually. He _adores_ policemen.

"Found these midgets wandering the streets," she says, offering them up. "Figured they were some of yours."

Antoine brightens and waves when he sees me, but Meg just continues to sulk; I think nothing of it – self-absorbedness is a bad flaw to have. "Hey, guys," Leo greets cheerfully, raising a hand in greeting before turning back to the policewoman. "Thanks for your help, Nemesis. Anything go wrong?"

"The boy tried to attack me," she snorts. "Thought I was some French guy – _Terry_ or something."

"It's _Thierry_," Antoine interrupts, mouth twisting into a frown. My stomach drops. I know the name Thierry.

That's the name of Antoine's father.

"Figured – Terry isn't very French." She nods, looking more self-satisfied than she has any right to. I wonder, briefly, how she can look like a policeman to me and an escaped convict to Antoine – but I don't bother worrying about it. Gods do weird things. "Meg thought I was _Hebe._ Can you imagine? Me, a twelve year old little bitch?"

Leo smirks. "Bitch, yes. Twelve year old…maybe in some demented alternate universe." He gestures to me. "This is Rey. Rey, this is my patron goddess – Nemesis. Goddess of revenge and balance."

"I keep hearing the word patron," Meg cuts in, entering the conversation suddenly enough that we all turn to her. "What does that _mean?_"

Antoine and Leo both start to explain at the same time, and there is an awkward mental standoff before Antoine backs down. As my curly-haired friend explains, I take the moment to mull over a few of the things that come with this revelation of patrons. _"I'm a balanced guy,"_ Leo had said when we first met. Is that what he means? He's a good guy – but he has a bad guy's job, and he steals petty things. Does that make him a balanced person? Does he balance out the other people around him? He definitely makes me feel more in tune with myself, and he has a way of making me spill my secrets. Is it like that with everyone?

My head spins. Too soon after the concussion to think like this, even if it's fully healed at this point – I don't want to risk anything. The realization that Meg has a god devoted to her – and that she's a _hero_ who's _destined_ for shit – seems to be overloading her system, and she's wavering in a blue screen of death moment. She looks ready to drop. Antoine watches her guiltily, hand behind her back to catch her in case she falls. I wonder what happened.

I'm zoned out for the entire time it takes Leo to explain patrons – it'd been the first thing he'd explained back at the warehouse, at my request – so I can't tell you how much time passes before he notices the bags under Meg's eyes. "Enough of that." He cuts himself off, lips curling into a frown. "Piper, Nico, and Hazel said they'd meet us in Portland, and they said they'd gotten there and found a hotel room last time we talked. Nemesis – I actually wanted to talk to you for about that. Think you can get us there?"

Her nose scrunches. "Leo Valdez," she says impatiently, crossing her arms and tapping her foot with mock impatience. "Do you mean to tell me that you _didn't_ call on me purely to ask how I was doing? I'm deeply offended."

"Yeah, well, build a bridge and get over it." She cracks a reluctant smile, and I wonder how a mortal and a goddess can be so cavalier with each other. "Please? The usual sacrifice gig will work for this, right? Just a small cut should do to get us there – preferably to the hotel lobby."

She sighs and relaxes her stance. "Alright, because you asked so nicely," she says sarcastically, "I'll send you up. Sacrifice first, though."

"Yeah, yeah, I know," he grumbles. "Hey Meg, can I use one of your switchblades?"

Frowning in confusion, she hands one to him – and before any of us can move, he flips it out and slices his finger.

It's not enough to cut it off – _just a small cut,_ I recall – but Antoine is wide eyed and backing away so fast he almost trips over his ankle. "Shit," he hisses, sucking in a short breath. He can't seem to take his eyes off Leo, who is now wiping his hand on his pants. "I – I – " He stumbles to a halt. "Shit."

I wince in sympathy. I want to walk across and help him but Nemesis is already nodding satisfiedly. She brings up her hand and – with all the drama of your usual clichéd action movie – snaps.

This is when the monster dust explodes in my face.

I spit out some of it and cough, hacking up my now-burning lungs. "Man, I always miss the good fights," Leo mumbles in complaint. I roll my eyes.

Antoine is a little more observant (for once). "Shit, man! Are you okay?"

"I'm fine," I manage, swatting away his attempts to help; upon inspection I realize that we've landed in a fancy hotel room with a double bed and a flat screen TV. The wallpaper is garish but the floor is plush. Monster dust is scattered across the floor. Meg had apparently landed on the bed and has closed her eyes, breathing deeply. She doesn't seem to be asleep yet, but I think that's going to change in a few minutes. Most important, standing in front of us with a giant ass golden sword is a tall man about Leo's age, with immaculate blonde hair and eyes the color of the sky.

"The room service maid," he says lamely. "She was a monster. Um. Sorry."

Not good at first impressions, obviously – but pretty hot. Not as good looking as, say, Antoine, but still. Very few people do I consider more attractive than Antoine.

"Oh my gods," whisper two people at the same time; I look up to say Leo staring in awe and Meg suddenly sitting straight up, eyes wide. I step over to her and Antoine follows me, the two of us exchanging a concerned look. He still looks a little panicked from the blood, but Leo's stuck his hand in his pocket so it should be fading.

"Leo?" Blondie's eyes light up. "They didn't tell me you'd be here! You look good, man. How've you been?"

"I always look good," Leo winks. I snort. He ignores me. "I didn't know they'd found you, either. Man, I bet Piper pitched a fit – " he cuts himself off, grimacing almost nervously. "Oh, sorry."

"No problem." And it really doesn't seem to be a problem – he's full-on grinning, eyes soft. I don't want to say anything, and there's a good chance that I'm wrong, but…the way that they're looking at each other – the way that they can't seem to help exchanging subtle touches – it makes me wonder if I'm the only member of a trio to fall for the hero. The thought makes me wonder even more about Leo's past. I push that aside for now – I've had enough soul-spilling for one day, thank you very much.

The blonde guy's eyes turn to us, curiosity burning. "So," he says, trying to sound nonchalant but ending up sounding stiff and forced. "Who are they?"

"Oh, right! They probably didn't want to tell you anything. 'Cause, you know. Piper." Leo grins impishly while he points straight at me. "That's Rey. He's a Mexican douchebag who nobody likes." His finger moves. "That's Antoine. He's French. His accent sucks, though." He gestures one last time. "That's Meg. She's like…_the Nico_ of their group."

Finally Leo turns and gestures to his friend (?) with a sweeping motion. "Guys," he says in his best announcer's voice, "allow me to introduce – "

"Jason." Every head turns to Meg once again. I sneeze at the monster dust that's still gathered in my face, but past that there's dead silence. "Jason of the Argonauts. The Golden Fleece. Phineas. The Sirens." Antoine swallows, looking a bit paler behind her. Her eyes are locked in this guy, though. "You're him. You're Jason."

Nobody else understands – but it only takes me a moment.

_"So you're the girl who knows things," _I'd told her on a balcony a million years ago.

"Jason." I stare at him in awe. Suddenly he seems a lot more imposing. "Like – the _original_ Jason? King of Iolcos, husband of Medea – all of that?" She nods, and I take that as a go ahead to ask more questions. "Immortal, or reincarnated?"

"Reincarnation," she says immediately, scrutinizing him as a scientist might observe a particularly strange experiment – one whose results they're not expecting. "Third life. First, Jason, Jason and the Argonauts. Second, Jason Lee – missionary, pioneer. Third – Jason Grace. Son of Zeus." Her voice is dull, as if she's listing off something horribly boring on a study guide for her least favorite class. She looks up calmly into his stunned expression. "And he had no idea up to now."

There's a moment where the room is blanketed in an electrified calm. Then – "Holy _shit_," Leo mumbles, fiddling with some pipe cleaners he's found gods know where. "I – how – ?"

"Meg's a kid of Mnemosyne," Antoine supplies.

"Titaness of memories," I add helpfully.

Leo almost drops his newest project. "_Titaness?_"

I grimace as Meg glares at me. "That was a secret?" I mumble weakly as all eyes turn to me. "Oops."

"It wasn't really a secret," Meg sighs, apparently giving in to the fact that she won't be getting sleep any time soon and allowing me a short nod of forgiveness. "It just wasn't brought up. But, yeah – she's the last remaining Titaness. Memory's really important, after all." She wrinkles her nose. "The only reason she's still alive is because she doesn't really _do_ much. She's mostly remembered for being the mother of the Muses, and that's it."

"So you're saying," Jason interrupts, blinking a few hundred times in quick succession, "that I'm not just _named_ after the original Jason – I _am_ him?"

"Yes," Meg says impatiently, rolling her eyes. "Don't look so surprised. It's not like you're the only hero to be a reincarnation – Antoine's on his second life, too."

Antoine jumps at the sound of his name. "Huh? I am?"

She sighs. "Yes. Didn't I mention it to you? You were Antoine de Saint-Exupéry in your last life. Still French – you write _The Little Prince._ It's pretty famous."

"I'm not remembering this," he complains, looking perplexed.

"Well, of _course_ you're not," she sighs impatiently. "Your mind got wiped with Lethe. The only people who can remember their past lives are children of Hypnos and children of Mnemosyne, and – " her breath catches. "Let's just say it's not exactly a blessing."

"This is your second life?" I should shut up – but I can't help it. I'm curious.

Her glare bores into my skull. Then she flops down on the bed. "Culture shock though this has been, I'm fucking tired. And if you ask me, you all should go to sleep, too. Who knows what we'll face in the morning."

After a good ten minutes of conversation buzzing and Meg trying to block us all out with fancy pillows, things finally wind down; Leo and Jason go to get us more rooms – "_How did you all even get the money to pay for this stuff?" "Hazel." _(when I ask, they say something about a curse washing away, and I quickly decide that I don't actually want to know) – while Antoine and I pull faces at one another over Meg's back.

I feel guilty. Meg had specifically said that this is her second life, and that her past life brings up bad memories – but I'd gone and asked her about it anyway. She's not visibly mad, of course, because Meg likes to let things stew and pretend to suffer in silence, but I still feel pretty bad.

I can't bring myself to fully apologize, though. In the end, I manage a mumbled "Sorry" while Antoine applauds mockingly.

"It's fine," Meg says, voice distorted by the pillow

My heart sinks. I don't believe her.

By the time I've summoned the courage to say sorry again, she's fast asleep – and even though I've only recently slept for 10+ hours, I decide that it's time for me to get some shut eye, too.

+x+

_i need you like a heart needs a beat – but thats nothing new  
i loved you with a fire red, now its turning blue and you say  
sorry like the angel heaven let me think was you  
but im afraid_

_**its too late apologize**_

+x+

**author's note**

totally inappropriate song. is this a good time to use yolo? i feel like it is, but who knows

two chapters one day, the next bad porno coming your way. only not. the point is, im trying to catch up with the three or four days where i did approximately seven hundred words a day and as a result you get two updates. small miracles (or not-so-miracles, whatevs)

its kind of funny how when i gush over reviews there are no reviews. coincidence? probably, yeah.


	15. Dead Hearts

XV: Meg

Dead Hearts

When I fall asleep, I dream of the day Rey and Antoine met.

I get the feeling it's because I've grown so fond of them, and their close proximity while I sleep probably doesn't help much. I'm used to seeing other people's memories while I sleep – it's become almost habit, albeit only a habit that occurs every few weeks – but this one is different from most that I've seen, and I'm fascinated. When I check, my hand is translucent and when I step forward, my bare feet make no sound on the crunchy gravel. For the first time, I look at my surroundings.

It's blistering hot, judging by the way that the air comes off the road in waves, and even though the sun is beginning to set I find myself wiping sweat off my brow. There's nobody anywhere that I can see, but I'm certain that if I wait they'll arrive – like I said, I've dreamed of other people before. (I'm pretty sure it has something to do with my mother, but who knows?) A gas station sits across the road from me, and a few stores litter the highway – but what catches my attention most is a dimly lit dead-end alleyway, where a small boy with sandy hair is chewing on a sandwhich.

My heart leaps. It's definitely Antoine – the blue and brown of his eyes, each a separate color, is unmistakable – but he's much younger, somewhere between six and nine years old. He wrinkles his nose and slows his chewing, and when I look closer I see that he's eating a peanut butter sandwich; I wince when I realize doesn't have any water. Of all the injustices of the world…but altogether, he looks pretty good; his hair is out of control but not dirty, and his clothes aren't very torn off. I figure that it's safe to assume that no monsters have found him – _not a child of a major goddess, then._

Yeah, I'm trying to figure out who Antoine's godly parent is. I can't help it; seeing as my godly mother claimed me when I was _five_, it feels strange that someone who's 16 (15? 17? I'll have to ask) hasn't gotten _any_ sign yet. Yes, my mother is a Titaness and that's a little different – a fact which I constantly try to forget – but I think it's safe to assume that gods and goddesses don't take this long to claim their children.

I'm startled out of my thoughts when mini Antoine jumps up, pulling a gun out of his jean pocket and swiveling around. Every muscle in his body is tense, and before I can ponder who the Hades decided it was a good idea to give a child a gun, he's yelling. "I know you're there!" he calls, finger shaking on the trigger. "Show yourself!"

There's a distinct rustling from my right before a little boy who's obviously Rey stands slowly, hands in the air in a unique gesture of innocence. "_Buenas noches_," he greets calmly, ignoring the other boy's surprise. "_Que pasa, Antoine?_"

Antoine may look a little mismatched, but Rey is infinitely worse for the wear – dirt and grime are streaked across his face, and his black hair is overgrown and wild almost to his shoulders. He's short even at this age – at least a foot smaller than Antoine – but something about him makes him seem…_above_ his wear and tear, somehow. He is distinctly calm without his usual scowl marring his features; he radiates knowledge and power. When he steps forward, Antoine steps back.

That's when I realize what it is. He looks in _control_.

"You scared me," Antoine says as gruffly as a child can, frowning and turning the safety back on before stuffing the gun in his pocket. "Who are you? And how do you know my name?"

It's safe to say that tiny Rey doesn't know much English by the way his face scrunches up – which, I'll admit, is pretty adorable – but he brightens when he hears the word 'name'. "Rey," he says clearly, gesturing to himself before holding out seven fingers.

Antoine blinks in surprise. "Huh? What does that – oh. You're seven years old?"

Rey stares for a moment before speaking very slowly, the way English people do sometimes when they're in foreign countries. "_Teeengooo siiiieeeeteeee aaaanooooos,"_ he says, as if that'll help his friend understand.

"Uh, right." To his credit, Antoine shrugs it off pretty quickly and continues the conversation quickly. "My name is Ant – wait no, you already know that. Um." He frowns before brightening and holding up his fingers. "I'm eight. See? Eight. One two three four…ah, you get it."

"_Ocho,_" Rey says with a calm smile. Antoine shakes his head, bemused.

"Eight, ocho…whatever. Potatoe, potato, huh? Hey – how do you speak Spanish? Are you from Mexico? Are you a borderhopper? Are you an illegal that I have to help escape the law from? Are your parents secret foreign spies?"

Antoine looks suitably excited about all of these potential adventures – and I have no doubt that he'd still be excited if offered these today – but Rey is scowling a familiar scowl and turning away stonily. "Huh?" The elder child blinks before it dawns on him. "Hey – did I offend you? I did, didn't I? Man. I'm sorry. The people at my school talked like that all the time." He offers his hand, smiling sheepishly. "Still cool?"

Rey glares at the hand for a moment before softening and shaking it, immediately radiating control once more – it's obvious who the superior in this relationship is. "Alright, so now that we're good," Antoine says, looking relieved, "do you know _any_ English?"

Rey hesitates for a moment, but apparently he gets the general gist because he starts listing off words, all with a childish Spanish accent. "Hand. Lamp. Taco. Name. Cool. English. Word. New. Orange. Vacuum. Dress." He stops.

Antoine grimaces and rubs the back of his neck. "Man, how do you know words like 'vacuum' and not simple things like 'of' and 'that'?" When he sees Rey prepare to go into sulk mode again, he quickly backtracks. "There's nothing wrong with it, of course – I mean, that's probably better than most kids in Mexico. You're a regular genius." Rey's eyes gleam at the compliment. "But, I mean…if I'm supposed to help you out, you gotta learn more English, okay?"

"Help?" Rey asks cluelessly, looking up with all the innocence of a seven year old.

"Yeah. I dunno…I just gotta feeling. 'M pro'lly crazy, huh?" Antoine grins. "But hey! Here's your first word to learn. _Friends_. I think I heard the Spanish word for it somewhere – _amigas_, or something?"

"_Son amigos?_" Rey asks, eyes sparking with amusement.

"Yeah. Son amigos. We're friends." He taps his head and grins. "Get it memorized. We're stuck together."

Rey stares for a moment, and then grins. "Cool," he says with a horrid Spanish twinge.

Antoine grins – a crazy grin that makes him look more like an evil scientist than an eight year old child. "And since I'm older," he hums, "I get to be in charge!"

Tiny Rey either doesn't understand or doesn't care, because he starts to memorize the word. "Son," he says with a small smile. "_Son se dice_ We're." He tastes it and apparently decides he likes it before he moves on.

_Friends._

_ Friends,_ he says, smiling delightfully as Antoine finishes off his peanut butter sandwich and pulls him along.

_Friends_, I want to believe he says when he talks to and about me so many years later.

_Friends,_ he says, over and over and over while the scene turns to black and I wake up.

"What's going on?" I ask, sitting up groggily with _friends_ echoing in my head too many times to make me feel sane. "What happened?"

It's a little surreal to see Antoine and Rey at their regular ages, but my shoulders sag in relief at the familiarity – Rey is once again scowling without that strange aura of power, and Antoine looks bleary-eyed and not at all older than us, disregarding height. I frown a little at the thought – he's 17, isn't he? That's so _weird_ – but there are apparently more important things to focus on, judging by Rey's expression.

"Hurry up and get ready," he says in a low voice. "They found another dead dog."

+x+

"So," I say, looking up at Rey with curiosity glistening in my eyes, "you said 'another'?"

He nods grimly; his scowl is gone, but I don't think I've ever seen him so serious. "Back at Abattoir – the old school – I was out running one morning," he explains; I can practically see the gears in his brain turning as we talk. The entire group is standing in the lobby, staring in awe at a Doberman whose guts are scratched out, blood painting the rich gold carpet an odd pink. "And I found this dead dug, with its guts strewn everywhere." Piper looks like she's about to be sick, though judging from what I've heard that may be because she's standing next to Jason. I make a mental note to ask Hazel about their history later.

"It looks like the same type of attack, too," Antoine frowns. I cast my gaze curiously to him. "I saw a picture," he explains, meeting my stare and holding it. It's funny – his eyes don't creep me out anymore. "On Rey's phone. If he hadn't thrown it away, we could show you all. Anyway, it looks like the same type of attack – there are some claw marks, and there's a pretty big hole in about the same spot, with no known animals around that could've attacked." He's frowning deeply, like this troubles him. I wonder how his fear of blood is holding up – but I guess dog blood doesn't count, because he doesn't look the least bit disturbed.

"Do you think it was a monster?" Nico offers from the other side of it. "Jason said that the maid was one, right? Maybe there's more than one."

"There's a good chance." Jason frowns. "Safe to assume it's dead, Hazel? You're the doctor."

"Do you really have to ask?" Hazel demands, nose wrinkled as she stares down. Nobody answers.

Finally, I ask the question that's been on my mind from the beginning. I think, briefly, that it's lucky no personnel are out in the lobby for once – this would be a strange conversation to listen in on. "Should we learn more or leave?" I ask, lips curling down at the smell, which is poignant and like sweaty gym socks – a bad combination. "This could be a sign. We need to go meet Rey's patron, but if something's tracking us – shouldn't we know?"

A long pause succeeds my question as I stare at them each impatiently, daring them to argue. I may be 16, but I have two switchblades and 11 years of training – even if they're better than me and decide the only viable method is attack, I have at least enough skill to escape. "Let's compromise," Leo offers, sounding confident but carefully avoiding our eyes. "A few of us will stay here and investigate – let's say me, Antoine, and Nico. The rest of you will – "

"No."

Everyone turns to Rey and for a moment I am terrified. He looks calm, powerful – in control, just like he did in my dream, and it's much more imposing now that he's nine years older. "Antoine and Leo are coming with me," he says firmly. "I've _seen_ it. If we try it any other way than it's just going to end up switched around, anyways."

I don't know about everyone else, but I definitely believe him. "Alright," Leo says, "so it's the other way around. Me, Antoine, and Rey will go to see Rey's patron, and the rest of you will stay here and investigate the dog. Sound good to everybody?"

"I'm going with Rey's group, too," I say, frowning. Nobody seems surprised. Jason looks a little wistful, and Piper is stony faced while Leo's eyes soften. I don't let it get to me. "Rey can't handle weapons worth shit, and if you have to split up it'd be a bad idea to leave either Leo or Antoine to their own devices."

"Alright." Leo nods, and there are murmurs of agreement with a few more nostalgic expressions. "Everybody's got the plan? We're all good? Okay. And break the huddle!"

With that, we all turn towards the door.

+x+

tell me everything that happened, tell me everything you saw  
_they had lights inside their eyes, they had lights inside their eyes_  
did you see the closing window? did you see the slamming door?_  
they moved forward and my heart died, they moved forward and my heart died_  
please, please, tell me what they looked like – did they seem afraid of you?_  
they were kids that i once knew_

_**they were kids that i once knew**_

+x+

**author's note**

your friendly reminder that dogs die and Antoine is a year older than both rey and meg

whose killing the dogs? it's a mYsTeRy oOoOoOoOh 2spooky

going on vacation in florida for thanksgiving break. if theres no wifi then i wont be updating for a while; im still writing every day, but i wont be able to post. if that happens than expect 4-6 chapters in quick succession

3/5 of the way there!


	16. Counting Stars on the Ceiling

XVI: Meg

Counting Stars on the Ceiling

"Guys," Rey says with trembling lips, "I don't think I'm ready for this."

Antoine slaps him on the shoulder with a grin and I resist the urge to roll my eyes. "You'll do fine," he encourages. I can practically feel Leo's eyes on the back of my neck, waiting at the road with a Segway that he'd stolen from gods know where. I think he knows what's going to happen, and I have to resist the urge to punch the smirk off his face. "As long as you give her the glow in the dark stars I gave you and be yourself, you'll be fine."

I know I said earlier that Rey looked powerful and in control, but he's exactly the opposite now; he looks small and lonely, like he never quite stopped being the 7 year old child who barely knew any English. _Friends _echoes in my mind before I shake it out. "Rey," I offer, eyes soft and expression more open than I'd like to admit, "do you want us to go in with you?"

It's obvious by the relief on his face that that's exactly what he's been thinking, and I'm not at all surprised that he didn't want to voice it. I know what it's like to feel weak. "Please?" he squeaks, eyes unusually wide and scowl gone. "I dunno why, but…I'm just. I'm _terrified,_ guys."

I exchange a look with Antoine. I'm touched that Rey can trust us like this, and I can tell that the French teen is a sucker for vulnerability – and we're a team. Teams don't let each other do things that they don't think they're ready for. "Think I need my French accent?" Antoine asks with a grin. Rey wrinkles his nose with distaste and starts to list off reasons why that's a bad idea – gods know why he's decided now's a good time to make top ten's, but whatever – and I turn and give Leo a thumbs up. He seems to understand, because he grins and motors off. I turn before I can see where he's headed; I get the distinct feeling that I don't want to know.

I turn to look once more at the tent that Rey had insisted is where his patron waits. It's something straight out of _Something Wicked This Way Comes_, a creepy circus tent at the front and center of an otherwise abandoned field, colors two separate neon shades that clash spectacularly with each other and the grey sky behind them. The only hint as to the place's purpose is a rusty sign next to the road – _Learn Your Future! The Fortuneteller is IN_. The miniature board with _IN_ written on it is glued to the sign – the product, I assume, of an immature prank. I don't blame Rey for being afraid; the place screams 'beware'.

"Alright, guys." I interrupt their miniature argument with a grim expression and a voice to match; they pause before turning away from each other, Antoine grinning easily and Rey's expression quickly going from angry to disgruntled. "Let's get this over with."

With that, we enter the tent.

The first thing I notice is that the inside is a _hell_ of a lot nicer than it looks on the outside – and it's bigger on the inside, too, Harry Potter style. It's a circular room with a lot of Native American memorabilia strung around everywhere, a tapestry of the stars hung on one wall and dream catchers littering another. The ground is covered in cozy-looking rugs, each with a unique constellation; I'm busy trying not to look at the one labeled _Hercules_ when Rey steps forward and, looking awed, bows. Antoine and I exchange looks before hastily following suit.

"Milady," Rey murmurs, digging in his pocket for a few tense moments before pulling out the packet of glow in the dark stars Antoine bought earlier and offering it to her. "I bring an offering." I realize, belatedly, that I still haven't seen the woman, and I risk death via impertinence by looking up.

She's beautiful, there's no doubt about that; she has green eyes that flicker and twinkle in the shadow of her hair, which is wavy and black, flowing all the way to her knees. She's dressed simply; her dress is short – the same shade as her hair – but her leggings are patterned, lace stretching over them. "Thank you," she says; her voice is rough as sandpaper but quiet, still, as if she's always whispering. "Rise – Rey Cabrera, my patron; Megara King, my sister; Antoine Faurote, my enemy's enemy."

Antoine blinks. "Enemy?"

The goddess waves it off. "It is of no importance yet, child. Come – sit." She waves three wooden chairs into existence; we all sit on the very edge. They're uncomfortable, but she's a goddess and complaining probably won't help, anyway. "I've been expecting you. It's wonderful to meet you. Rey – you know, you look quite a bit like your brother."

Rey shifts uncomfortably in his seat. I take a moment to stare. I didn't know that Rey has a brother – but I guess that there are a lot of things about him that I don't know, even now when I would give my life for him in a heartbeat. "Thank you, ma'am," he says, more to sound polite than anything else.

"Yes," the woman sighs heavily, sitting down in her own armchair – which, I note sullenly, looks a _lot_ more cushioned and comfortable than our seats. "Iolaus and I were very close, you know…it's a shame that the motorcycle accident – "

I don't know how but I find myself standing, hand tight around one of my switchblades. "_Iolaus?_" I demand, eyes burning. Antoine is tugging urgently at my hand and the goddess manages a look of vague surprise, but Rey just stares straight ahead, no emotion in his eyes. "You didn't tell me – "

"It never came up." The Hispanic teen's voice is stony and his expression is stoic. I blink furious tears from my eyes. "Sit down. You're being irrationally dramatic about this."

I stare blankly for a moment – my ears roar, but I can see Antoine's warning look. For a moment I break out of my anger and a moment of clarity hits me. I'm getting angry because Rey didn't tell me about his brother – who, judging by the goddess' words, is dead. He doesn't know how long I've looked for Iolaus or my connection with him. He doesn't realize – and I didn't realize – how closely intertwined our destinies are.

_Wrath_, I remember, watching the way he grips the seat so tightly his knuckles are white. _His fatal flaw is wrath._ Reluctantly, I sit.

The goddess has been watching us with pursed lips and hooded eyes – I find, somehow, that I'm liking her less and less by the second. "Well," she says, clearing her throat, "though that was certainly…_interesting,_ I think it's about time I introduce myself. My name is – "

"Urania," Antoine interrupts; I turn to blink at him. The goddess' face goes slack and for a moment I'm concerned, but it quickly passes to be replaced with confusion. "That's it, right? One of the Muses, so you're Meg's half-sister. And I looked it up, and a while ago, somebody mentioned to me – about stars and planets. You're the goddess of astronomy, right? And of Christian poets."

I wonder whether she's glaring at him or just staring. "Very observant," she says coolly. "Wikipedia must have served you well."

He frowns. "I didn't – "

"Regardless," she plows on, ignoring Antoine's uncharacteristic scowl, "the fact that you know who I am is of little concern, now."

_"'Little concern'?"_ Antoine demands, frowning, but she ignores him. We exchange a glance – we definitely share opinions on this woman.

"What _is _important," she continues, "is that we discuss what I summoned you for. Now, I know that you are aware of patrons – but they have yet to explain avatars to you, and you, Meg, haven't even met your patron yet." Her lips twitch, but she forces down her smile. "A shame, I'm certain. He's rather…_charming_ isn't the word, but well. He's rather appropriate. Considering your past – "

"Shut up." I glower at her.

Her eyes darken. "You would swear loyalty to one you have not met?"

"Better them than you." I sound like a sullen child, even to myself – but I can't help it. My past is _my_ past, for _me_ to talk about.

She doesn't seem to understand this, though. She scowls right back at me. "You haven't told them yet, is that it?" she demands grimly. "I'd be happy to share, if you can't find the courage to. You see, boys, this isn't the only time that Megara has been named Megara. In her last life – "

I throw a switchblade at her.

I purposely miss – it digs into the wall behind her instead; I don't hate her _that_ much yet – but she shuts up anyway, and in that moment, her mouth an _o_ of surprise and her mind is open. It's only a split second, but she's not the only daughter of Mnemosyne, and maybe she doesn't have memory powers – but _I_ do.

"Oh," I say before I can help myself. "Oh, I see. You're afraid."

"Afraid?" she sounds indignant. I resist the urge to roll my eyes. "What would I be afraid of? You're just – "

"You're afraid," I cut her off, "that if you don't tell them my past, I'll tell them yours first."

I see her eyes flash – and I know I'm right. I hesitate a moment, because it really isn't my right to tell them anything like this, but Antoine is watching me with eyes that burn of curiosity and Rey, despite carefully hiding any of his emotions, deserves to know. "You didn't just _know_ Iolaus," I prompt softly; I notice my friend tense next to me – but he has to know. He has to understand the connection between his patron and himself. "He was your _lover._"

There's a moment of silence where I dare Urania to argue, but she stays quiet, staring blankly. "You fell in love with him," I say quietly, refusing to let my pain into my voice, "knowing that he and I were destined to fall in love – if not in this lifetime, then the next." My voice trembles, and now even Rey is staring at me, looking horribly confused. "You fell in love with him despite being above everyone – the only goddess you knew of to be in _three_ religions, and constantly caring for those in the sky, above all of us on Earth. You fell in love with a mortal." I resist the urge to spit at her feet, badass though I might feel with it. "And he died because of it."

When I meet no resistance I continue, though I'm definitely rambling now. "You loved him because of his palindromes." She tenses. "That's it, right? Words – phrases – the same forwards and backwards. They all held meaning for you. _Dog sees god_ – you thought of Artemis and laughed. But the one you loved most was _lonely tylenol._ Because he was your medicine, and he told you how _lost_ he'd be without you – and you fell for it, hook, line, and sinker. And you _hate_ yourself for it."

She stares coldly. "I was going to tell you who your enemy was," she says stonily. "But you have lost my favor, Megara. Were I not above cursing, I would tell you – " Her nostrils flare. I get the feeling that the 'above cursing' act gets to Antoine, because he tenses. "Oh well. Perhaps you should do a Google search. I certainly won't be telling you her name."

"Sorry," Antoine says clearly, "I don't use Google."

She snarls at us before she disappears, tent and all. We all fall to the ground, and Antoine automatically cusses at nothing.

"She took my second knife with her!" I grumble. "What a fucking waste."

Rey's face finally relaxes, and he turns to us guiltily. "Sorry," he mumbles. "About…not saying anything. My brother, you know – I don't – " He swallows. He doesn't ask about myself and Iolaus and I don't offer the information. I mentally file it under the _Too Much Information_ catalogue.

"Don't worry about it," Antoine assures him before eyeing me wryly. "Nice exposition, there, doll. You really put her in her place."

I card a hand through my hair. "Sorry," I mumble. "I'm just – I didn't want her to tell you about my past."

"Then you should tell us," Rey points out. I think he's feeling guilty that he couldn't defend us back inside the tent. "We'll listen."

I hesitate. "I can't tell you everything."

"You don't have to," Antoine promises.

I stare at my feet, swallow, and finally – _finally_ – start to tell someone about my past. "Like she said, this isn't the first time I've been named Megara," I mumble. "And Hebe hates me because I used to be married to her husband. I – " My breath catches, but I stumble onwards at their sympathetic expressions.

"I was Hercules' first wife," I say clearly, looking up at them both. "I was the first Megara. And I can't tell you why yet, because I would prefer you to meet my father before I tell you, but that wasn't the only life where I was meant to be dead."

+x+

_when i got home i was alone  
and I fell in love with that feeling  
when i got home i was alone_

_**and i counted stars on the ceiling**_

+x+

**author's note**

lyrics/song is relevant to Urania/Iolaus because i ship it so hard you don't understand theyre like my oc otp

i just like pairings with good people/douchebags okay it's the same thought process with john/vriska the good people make the douches slightly less douchey

also it turns out i do have wifi in florida, hell yes


	17. Sounds of Silence

XVII: Antoine

Sounds of Silence

"So," I say over the sound of the Segway zooming at approximately half the speed of light, "what's the deal with Jason's fatal flaw?"

I don't know if anyone's mentioned this yet, but Leo is pretty much the worst driver to exist ever. Rey looks like he's enjoying it, grinning with his arms wrapped around the elder's waist, but behind me Meg looks like she's about to barf. I asked her a while back, when we'd stolen a motorcycle – she claims motion sickness affects her for _everything_, not just cars. I cast her a sympathetic look before looking forward again. Rey has twisted slightly to face me, wind whipping at his hair while Leo smirks and carefully avoids our eyes.

"Obedience," Rey calls back, and through her queasiness I can feel Meg shift behind me in interest. She's pressed up against me awkwardly, and this time I don't have driving to focus on. My ears start to get red. "And too much stock in authority. Why?"

"Just wondering," I call back, shrugging. I like knowing about either people's fatal flaws. They make me feel better about my own.

"I have a question, too," Meg calls from behind me, chest pressing up against my back. Her voice quavers and melts, but she speaks determinedly. "Only it's for Leo."

"Watcha need?" Leo tosses over his shoulder, grinning at the feel of wind on his face.

She may not be feeling her best, but apparently that doesn't stop her from being pretty goddamn vulgar. "What the fuck happened between Jason and Piper?" she demands. The Segway screeches to a stop. Leo turns to look at us all in disbelief. Rey and I grimace at one another, but there's no stopping Meg when she's determined. I take a moment to admire it.

Then I stop myself. _She's destined for Rey's brother,_ I remind myself. And sure, Iolaus is dead, but if I'd been told _my_ true love fell for a complete douche of a god – _and_ if my husband in my last life had _murdered me_ before I got to marry said true love, and then sent his psychotic wife after me – well, I definitely wouldn't be ready for any romance, either. Besides, who _knows_ how I feel about her? Or how she feels about me? Or how Rey feels about either of us?

"That's actually not a bad idea," Rey offers. Meg's smile is frail but pleased, and I hesitantly put a hand behind her back just in case she falls. "Actually, could you explain to us the entire romantic situation? I really don't want to offend anybody."

"And I don't want to ship anybody who has no chance of being canon," I add. Meg looks at me strangely, but Rey just rolls his eyes. Leo grins. He knows a fellow blogger when he sees one, I guess.

"Alright." Leo's smile fades. "This might take a while…but we're here, so if you want to look up whatever you needed to, Antoine, then you can do that while I can explain."

My entire body sags with relief. It's Rey who's looking at me strangely now, but there are some things that I need to know. There was a name Nike mentioned that I forgot to look up last time – and bitchy though Urania was, she did say to look up who our Big Scary Ultimate Boss is going to be. I've gotten pretty into mythology over the years, considering all the fighting Rey and I have done, and I have a horrible idea that I hope against hope isn't right. I hop off the scooter and offer my hand, which Meg snatches before Rey can; he makes a face at her while she daintily steps off, still looking distinctly green.

We wander into the library and I automatically dash to the computer. Most of my brain is screaming at me to check on my tumblr – I've probably lost all my followers, but wait until they get a load of what _I've_ been up to for the past few days. I manage to resist temptation, though, and after the dinosaur age technology boots up I pull up the Yahoo! homepage and type in the name Nike had told me a couple of nights ago. (I wasn't lying when I said that I don't use Google anymore. Sure, it was partly because I didn't like Urania – but I gotta be loyal to my patron, you know?) Three chairs scrape as the others gather around me and the computer, and while I type Leo begins to explain.

"It'll probably be easier if I just give you relationships by person," he muses before nodding to himself and starting. "Okay, so Frank and Hazel – you'll meet Frank in a while, he and Reyna are on their way to Portland now – Frank and Hazel used to be a thing. For two and a half years. Then Frank was voted Praetor and starting spending more time with Reyna and there was this whole clusterfuck of issues because Hazel used to be cursed – long story, it's over now – but long story short, they finished things and are still friendly. Frank and Reyna are currently so in love that it's almost gross to watch them." He pauses to consider before tacking on, "Reyna hasn't really dated anyone important; everyone thought there was going to be a thing with Jason, but there wasn't, and that's pretty much it with her."

I'm half tuned in while I wait for the page to load, but when it does my eyes light up as I scan the results. My heart sinks at the third and fourth. "Fuck," I curse under my breath. Leo pauses to eye me curiously.

"Did you find something out?" Meg asks curiously.

I shake my head. "No. I just – " My breath catches. "Somebody…mentioned something to me a few days ago. And I thought it would be better news than it is." I wave away their protests and click one of the links. "Go on."

_MOLPE_, it reads. _Culture: Greek. Attribute: Flying. Attribute: Seductive. Behavior: Deadly. One of the Sirens whose name means 'Music'. These are birds that are unable to fly and they have the heads of women._

_That's me!_ the voice in the back of my head screeches gleefully. _Deadly. I like that!_ I grit my teeth and ignore it as Leo continues his exposition.

"Hazel hasn't dated anyone after Frank, so I'm not repeating myself," he says nonchalantly, fiddling idly with a nearby book. "Jason and Piper…" He visibly winces. I click back to the Yahoo! website before I start to pay a little more attention to the lecture. "Jason and Piper were like that one couple that _everyone_ knows is going to get together, and it was just a matter of time before they did. Super annoying and cheesy, but kind of adorable if you look at it that way, I guess. Anyway, things ended _really_ badly for them – Piper thought that Jason was cheating on her with Reyna and Jason was super offended that Piper would think so little of him. I'm pretty sure they hate each other, now, actually.

"Last I heard, Jason was dating a mortal girl named Kristi. Piper's sworn off boys, which is easy because she realized that she's a lesbian." Rey falls out of his seat.

After we all make sure he's okay, Meg looks up in disbelief. "Are you _sure_? I mean…I _saw_ Piper checking out boys. Not that I paid extra attention or anything," she adds quickly, expression daring us to argue, "but she pointed out how attractive they were. It didn't seem very…I don't know. It didn't seem very _homosexual_ of her, I guess, if that makes sense."

Leo's been nodding in understanding, but his tone is smooth, as if talking to a child who doesn't understand. I've temporarily abandoned my search for information. I would've _never_ guessed that about Piper – but I would've never guessed it about anybody, even Leo, who is so flagrantly bisexual he could be nicknamed Flaming Valdez and nobody would mention it. It makes me wonder who else I know isn't straight without my knowledge. I eye Rey curiously. "Just because Piper is homosexual doesn't mean she isn't homoromantic," Leo says, expression serene. "Most people's sexuality and romantic emotions match up, of course. Hers just…don't. So, yeah, she only wants to get it on with girls but she'll gladly date both genders. That's called being _biromantic_. Take notes."

Meg is paralyzed, staring upwards as though trying to process the information. Rey is blinking at the rate of eight million times per second. I myself am not so surprised – which surprises me. Maybe because it sounds familiar.

Maybe because it sounds like me?

Before I can ponder that thought, Leo's shaking his head with amusement and moving right along. "Anyway. Piper just recently broke up with her last girlfriend – Delilah, a kid of Morpheus. Nico – " He falters. Coughs. Starts to speak and fails. Meg and I exchange sad looks while Rey looks confused. "Nico…um. Well." He coughs again. "Nico…and me…dated for four years. I mean, four years and five months, but…yeah." He swallows while Rey stares blankly. His voice shakes and my heart sinks for him. He looks so _lost_. "We only broke up a few months ago, and it was…a pretty serious relationship…I mean, as far as I know, neither of us have dated anybody afterwards."

"You don't have to talk about it if you don't want to," I interrupt gently. He nods, face distinctly pale.

"I'm fine," he mumbles. "Just being stupid."

I hesitate and give Meg a meaningful look before turning back to the computer. Rey looks paralyzed; I can't tell if it's a good kind or a bad kind, but I'm hoping that it doesn't change the way he treats Leo – or Nico, for that matter. I know that Leo and Rey are unusually close, and I don't want any misplaced anger to take place.

I push that out of my head for now. While Meg smoothly talks Leo through his issues, I look at the list of Zeus' wives – the only hint as of yet as to what we might be up against. Number One is Metis, so I start there. The second link is the one that looks most informative, and when I click it I receive all the information that I need for my eyes to widen and my blood to pound in my ears and my face to drain of color.

"Shit," I whisper under my breath, careful not to let them hear. I don't _know_ if this is what we're facing, of course. It could be something completely different. I hope to gods that it is.

_Metis,_ I read with a shaking hand, _was the Titaness of good counsel and advice. She devised the plan to make Kronos vomit his children and served as an important ally to Zeus. However, it was prophesized that she would bare a son more powerful than Zeus himself. It was told that he would overthrow the gods just as Zeus overthrew Kronos and Kronos overthrew Ouranus. When he learned of her pregnancy, he tricked her into becoming a fly and promptly swallowed her. As it was, she was pregnant with the goddess Athena, who sprung from Zeus' head, as Metis was incapable of regular childbirth._

More powerful than Zeus.

Overthrow the gods.

_Oh. My. Gods._

I close the page before anyone else can see it. We have enough to deal with just staying alive and figuring out this whole patron business – the last thing we need is to deal with a prophecy about overthrowing anybody.

"Antoine?" I jerk in surprise, but it's only Meg's hand on my shoulder. She looks concerned, and it's only now that I realize how strange I must look, eyes bugging out and face dead white. I hate keeping secrets. I'm horrible at it. But I have to. "You okay? You look like you've seen a ghost."

I shake her off, taking another deep breath before forcing a smile. Cover it up, cover it up, tell a joke and make them laugh, just _don't let them see how scared you are._ "I know I said demigods are never paranoid, doll, but was _ghost_ really the best you could come up with?"

Her face burns red but she and Rey both relax; Leo – senses far more honed than mine, I'm sure – scrutinizes me closely. I avoid his gaze, instead smiling brightly and jumping up. "Come on, guys," I grin. "Let's go see if the other group is doing as badly as us."

Leo's eyes never leave me as we leave the library.

+x+

_hello, darkness, my old friend; ive come to talk with you again  
because a vision softly creeping left its seeds while i was sleeping  
and the vision that was planted in my brain still remains within the sound_

_**of silence**_

+X+

I FINALLY HAVE AN EXCUSE TO USE A SIMON & GARFUNKEL SONG

you don't understand this was my favorite 60s band fuck yeah

admittedly, my favorite part of the song comes much later on, but the idea is still there

this chapter was actually finished yesterday? i was just a dork who didn't get the chance to publish it


	18. Richard Cory

XVIII: Antoine

Richard Cory

"So," Rey says, eyebrows knit together while Meg vomits in a nearby bush, "you met up with a grey-haired boy who could control ice, who told you he was avenging the death of Mormo – who _deserved _to be dead, for the record – and you somehow beat him…with a wrench."

"Was it really necessary to repeat that?" Nico points out, eyebrows raised; Rey shrugs while I shift uncomfortably under Leo's gaze. I think he knows something's up – but I'm not willing to mention it yet. There are too many other options. I didn't look into a single one of Zeus' many other wives; there's a good chance that I'm very, very wrong. Or I try to convince myself that, anyway, and it sounds reasonable in my head.

"Where are the others?" I demand, stuffing my hands into my jean pockets and mentally scoping for them. The only people from the other group here are Nico and Piper. I'm not quite prepared to talk to either of them – especially not alone – but they haven't done anything wrong, so I refuse to let my panic and irritation enter my voice. Rey seems to notice, casting a strange look out of the corner of his eye, but I purposely ignore him, face going red. "I mean – they helped, right?"

"'Course they helped," Piper snorts, leaning on a mop she's been using to clean up monster dust. "They're out getting lunch. Nico here got a craving for McDonald's." She nudges him with a wry smile, and he makes a face at her.

I find myself staring at them. Of the group we've compiled, they're the last people I would've expected to be as close as they apparently are – Nico, for all of his confidence and powers and steady job, is still pretty doom and gloom, and Piper is probably the girliest person here, between half-dead Hazel and Meg the action movie lead. But somehow, innately, they understand each other, the same way Rey and I do – or, more accurately, Meg and Rey, who are simultaneously so similar and so different that it hurts. I frown.

"Hey, Meg," Nico says suddenly, interrupting both my thoughts and the peaceful silence. She looks up from where she's twirling a strand of hair, surprise on her face as she freezes. He smiles softly, though it quickly disappears. "I need to talk to you for a few minutes. Wanna come with me to the other room…?"

"Sure," she says automatically, glancing at Leo. As they have been since we all met up, the two men are studiously (but not obviously) ignoring each other, Leo chatting lightly with Rey while Meg moves away uncertainly. All three of us exchange a look before looking away in understanding. _Somebody_ better figure out what happened between the two of them. Meg and Nico walk out with a "we'll be grabbing coffee a few streets down" tossed over their shoulders, and Leo immediately relaxes.

"I need to get away, too, actually," the Spanish man says clearly, staring me down; I fidget nervously with the edge of my t-shirt – bought from the hotel gift shop, fancy and silk and, of course, covered in dirt a la getting dumped to the ground by a goddess. "I think that Antoine and I should go grab some snacks to tide us over while we wait for Jason and Hazel – sound good?"

Meg and I exchange an uneasy glance. I don't like the idea of everyone being in groups of two – but there really is nothing I can do, especially with that gleam in Leo's eyes. I recognize it; I've seen it in Rey eight billion times since we first met. That's the gleam of pure fucking determination. "Sure," I finally say, mouth dry. I wet my lips. "I'm ready when you are."

He offers his arm mockingly and I take it, lips twitching up. "Truly a gentleman," I hum, waggling my eyebrows at him.

He grins in response. "Only the best for a lady like you." I hear Piper snort behind us, but we walk quickly and soon enough – about ten joking quips and four blocks later – we find ourselves in front of a grocery store. "You feeling some chocolate?" Leo asks, brushing some curls out of his face. "Because I'm feeling some chocolate."

"I am _always_ feeling chocolate," I agree, thinking vaguely of getting some coffee while we're in. I haven't had some in a few days, and I'm craving it pretty desperately. I don't even need creamer or sugar – I always drink it black. Rey thinks it's weird, but whatever. "Crunch Bars?"

"_Hell_ yes," he grins, and suddenly I feel a _lot_ more cordial towards this guy.

Not that I wasn't cordial before, of course! I mean, he's perfectly okay. But he and Rey – well. I've known Rey for _nine years_, and Leo's known Rey for less than a month. Piper explained to me, back at the apartment, that demigods form bonds faster because of their higher chance of dying young, but Rey's most definitely mortal, and the two of them are so close that you would think they're fucking related. And even if they weren't BFFs 5 ever, they still have so much more in common than he and I; they're both Spanish, and they're both essentially orphans (from what I've heard), and they have this _thing_ where they're dangerous without weapons. They just click. And I love Rey as much as every other guy loves his best friend, so you can understand why I'd be apprehensive about somebody taking him from me.

I mean, people get jealous over best friends all the time, right?

I don't have time to ponder it before we slide in through the automatic glass doors and find ourselves listening to the worst elevator music I've ever heard – with the entire store completely abandoned.

My first instinct is to flip out; I pull my gun from my pocket, turning the safety off without even thinking about it. Like most places, the grocery store is much more disturbing when it's empty – it keeps up the illusion of life with fluorescence beaming from the ceiling and filled refrigerators humming, but that only makes it seem more eerie and abandoned, especially since the noises can't overcome the voiceless tune in the background. I find myself backing up to the wall, eliminating the most obvious way to be snuck up on.

I turn to look at Leo – maybe get a game plan, figure out what's going on – but he isn't there; when I glance around I find that he's walking forward, a dreamy expression on his face. "Hey," I protest, but he doesn't seem to hear me, too locked in some dreamland to notice. "Hey!" I repeat, more forcefully. "Leo. Earth to Leo. Man, this isn't funny – hey, no, get back here!"

He sprints away from me; I manage a disgruntled sigh before chasing after him, feet pounding against the tiled white floor. He dives down the ice cream aisle and I dash after him, turning a corner sharply just after he does, and there – next to a rack of fallen shoes – are our obvious targets; I manage to grab a hold of Leo's shirt and drag him back as I stare at them in a mixture of fascination and disgust.

_My sisters!_ shrieks the voice in my head – _I'm Molpe_, _not some voice!_ it (she?) adds indignantly. Though I suppose I knew that before, it's still strange to think that there's a Greek monster in my _brain_. I banish the thought to be picked up again later, ignoring Molpe's shrieks – _they'll eat you, you fool, run away!_ – and instead taking a moment to watch the monsters in utter horror.

There are two of them and they're disgusting; dry blood cakes their crusty mouths, and their beady black eyes can't seem to focus on any one point. Their arm are line with black feathers, and other than that, they look like your everyday scrawny axe murderers – with the added bonus of singing, which is apparently where the music is coming from. They grin at each other when we enter their line of sight.

"Fresh meat!" the one on the left crows. I dub her Ugly.

"We'll have a feast!" the one on the right cackles. I call her Uglier.

I point my gun at them and their laughter comes to an instant halt. "Stop it!" I manage, though my voice sounds high-pitched and terrified even to me. I'm not used to one-on-one fighting – I much prefer when at least one person is on my side, especially up against multiple monsters. "Whatever you're doing it, stop doing it, now – or I'll shoot you both to Hades."

Ugly ruffles her feathers, glaring indignantly at me. "How are you resisting?" She demands, though she sounds more analytical than she does angry. "Is there something wrong with you?" She squints. "I can see what you desire, but I can't show it to you…how – "

"This is the _worst_ time for one of your experiments!" Uglier shrieks, slapping her sister upside the head. With some horror, I see what is clearly a human skull hidden behind her when she moves – and suddenly I definitely don't want them to get out of the way. That Crunch Bar isn't sounding so good anymore, either. "Don't you see? It's the _Munu._"

I stare blankly, gun partially (stupidly) forgotten. I've gotten used to weird phrases in the last couple of weeks – patrons and avatars and we _still_ don't know what metic means – but I've never heard anyone use one to describe me. "Mumu? Isn't that, like…a dress?" Leo drags me forward a few inches, eyes half-crazed.

_Fool!_ thunders the voice in my brain.

_How about you be helpful and tell me who the fuck these people are_, I order, resisting the urge to roll my eyes while the sisters ignore my comment and bicker.

I hear a grudging sigh. _Ignorant child…though I suppose it's my duty to keep you alive. These are my sisters, Peisinoe and Raidne. They, too, are Sirens – not the ones down in Bermuda, obviously, because those were the most powerful_. She says the last few words with a snarl, and my lips twitch at her blatant jealousy. Serves her right. _They can see your heart's desire. Because of me, however, they can't show it to you – I'm blocking them out_.

_Cool_, is all I get the chance to think before Leo wrenches out of my grip and runs forward, blocking any chance of me shooting for fear of hitting him in the crossfire.

Peisinoe cackles while Raidne stretches outwards for their meal – but Peisinoe, the less ugly one, manages to grab it before her sister can. "Idea," she says.

"Better be a good one," Raidne snarls, preparing her talons as Leo relaxes completely. I watch desperately.

Peisinoe looks up at me, smile vicious. For a moment, I see the power she might've had. For a moment, she looks just like Meg – and in another, like Nike. But almost immediately, she flickers back, looking thoroughly displeased with herself. "Flight," she hums. "He wants flight?"

"So?" Raidne demands, desperately reaching for the just out of reach Leo.

"So we teach him to fly," Peisinoe grins. I suddenly feel my heart sink when I realize that they're talking about me – me and my dreams of flying and the lengths I go to to hide them. "He could be an asset – our powers in a human body. More meat!"

Raidne blinks before grinning. "Your powers?" I demand, starting to panic. "That – is this because Molpe is possessing me?"

_I'm not possessing you, you fool!_ Molpe growls indignantly. I pay close attention, though Raidne looks prepared to lunge, screw their badly thought up plan – but before anyone can tell me anything, we're all stopped from pure shock. Straight through Raidne's stomach is the head of an arrow. "Ow," she says mutely before dissipating into dust.

Peisinoe roars and makes a move to eat Leo before a feminine figure falls on top of her, crushing her into oblivion. Leo blinks and surfaces from his trance, stumbling forward before the girl catches him. "It's okay," she reassures him. She's pretty in the same way Meg is, with 'FEMALE ACTION LEAD' written all over her and the metal sword at her side. She's black haired and vaguely Spanish, with serious dark eyes.

A broad-shouldered Asian guy with a bow and arrows jogs up. "Everybody okay?" he asks, eyeing us worriedly. "Nobody wounded beyond repair?"

"I'm fine," Leo says shakily. His eyes light up. "Hey – you guys made it!"

"Of course," the girl reassures. I've stopped paying attention, though – I need to sate my curiosity.

_If you're not possessing me,_ I demand of the voice in my head, _why do I keep hearing you?_

_ Because,_ Molpe snarls back, _I am your _mother.

+x+

_he freely gave to charity, he had the common touch  
and they were grateful for his patronage and they thanked him very much  
so my mind was filled with wonder when the evening headlines read: _

_**"richard cory went home last night and put a bullet through his head."**_

+x+

**author's note**

song chosen because that was one of the greatest plot twists in poetic history and if you saw this coming, i will award you a fucking medal

this was actually planned from the beginning i just failed at foreshadowing

ALMOST TO 40000 WOOOO


	19. Animal I Have Become

XIX: Rey

Animal I Have Become

"So," I say after everyone greets Reyna and Frank and Nico eagerly takes his silver sword from them before disappearing to practice, "where's Antoine?"

Meg shoots me a warning look that I assume is my signal to try to be more tactful, but I purposely ignore her, instead patiently fixing my eyes on Leo. I know I can trust him with the truth, and he doesn't disappoint. "We have no idea," he says evenly, a frown gracing his face for the first time since the two praetors arrive – I take a moment to miss the constant smile, but his arms are still slung over their shoulders so I assume I haven't damaged their friendship any. "He turned and ran right after I came to – when we went outside to look, he'd disappeared."

"He was a bit weird," Frank remarks, hands intertwined with his hair and a nearly imperceptible smile on his face as he glances from Leo to Reyna and back. "I think he mentioned something about being possessed – and the Sirens definitely wanted him on their side."

"He kept mumbling under his breath, too," Reyna remarks, though contrary to the feminine stereotype she looks more imposing than her boyfriend and her best friend combined. "It was more than a little concerning. We'll have to check into it."

"I'm sure he'll turn up," Frank hums, eyes softening at his girlfriend's decision. "In the meantime, let's catch up. What's happened with you all?"

Jason steps forward reluctantly, eyeing the arms Leo has slung around his friend's frames as if they've done him personal offense. I take a moment to appreciate how complicated Leo's love life must be – even worse than mine, if his apparent ex-boyfriend and his friend's infatuation are any indications. "I'll explain it to you," he offers, and other than Frank and Leo he's the first person to look Reyna full-on in the eyes. "Here – sit down and eat and I'll talk you through it."

"I'll help," Leo offers; Jason looks away from Reyna sharply, though his eyes soften when he gazes at the sheepish Hispanic man. "You weren't there for the whole story. Besides, you're a politician. Your views are more messed up." He winks like it's an inside joke.

Meg and I exchange looks. "You're a politician?" she asks, nose scrunching.

It's Jason's turn to look sheepish, a light grimace gracing his face as he awkwardly shifts his weight. "County clerk," he says, offering a hopeful little smile. I pull a face at the idea, but keep quiet, to Meg's approval.

"If you don't mind," she says, still eyeing him like he's lied to her somehow and grabbing my arm before flashing them a brilliant smile, "I need to talk to Rey about something. We'll be careful. Be back in a few minutes!" Before anyone can offer protests or reasons why it's a bad idea, she drags me away from the picnic table we've settled in at and around a corner. She doesn't let go for another three blocks of speed walking.

I finally get sick of scuffing my shoes on every inch of sidewalk and wrench my arm out of her grip, rubbing it to return feeling. "We need to find Antoine," I say automatically.

"That's what I wanted to talk to you about," she agrees, turning to face me. Her brow is furrowed and her lips are pursed. "I mean, Antoine's one of my best friends, but – " Her voice falters and I suddenly feel horrible. "You've known him longer." She forces herself to continue. "You know him better than I do, and I just want to make sure that I'm right when I say it – Antoine wouldn't run away like that."

"No," I agree; we've come to a stop in front of a long stretch of vandalized brick wall. At the end, just before the corner, is a black gate that vines tangle on, through which I can see a line of abandoned trash cans. "Antoine may be impulsive, but he's not stupid." I think of his fatal flaw. "Much as I love him, he's not that self-sacrificing, either. He wouldn't leave unless he was getting chased – or if he was chasing something."

There's a moment where that hangs in the air; she rubs her bare arms with her hands and shivers. The days are slowly turning colder. I can't quite see my breath, but I can feel it there, and I know that the T-shirt Piper let her borrow can't be comfortable. "Do you want my jacket?" I ask suddenly.

"I'm fine," she insists, but I'm already shrugging it off. She makes a face at me and I take a moment to hope I don't smell completely horrible before I hand it over and she slides into it, shoulders sagging in relaxation. I let a smile twitch at my lips for a few moments before a force it back down in favor of my usual scowl and stoicism. She pulls the jacket closer around her and eyes me cautiously. "Actually," she breathes, meeting my eyes with no hesitation, "there's something else that I wanted to talk to you about."

I freeze up. I wonder if she's going to ask me how I feel about her – if the jacket tipped her off, or something I said, or the way that I moved. I won't have any idea what to say. I've pushed any and all of my feelings for Meg to the side other than friendship, less because I don't _want_ to be with her – I'm sure you've heard this from someone else, but she's pretty attractive, and we get along well – than it is because I don't understand my own emotions about it.

What she says instead is completely unexpected. "I've been thinking," she says cautiously, testing the waters, "and I don't want to sound offensive, but…are you in love with Antoine?"

It's not what I'm expecting but the question is just as loaded; I stiffen automatically, partly out of shock and partly to guard myself. I stuff my hands in my pockets and stare at my feet. What can I say?

"You are, aren't you," she whispers, her voice too low for me to discern any emotion. "I won't judge you. It's okay."

"I don't know," I mumble, interrupting her to my own surprise – and hers, judging by the way she jumps at the sound of my voice. "I don't…_think_ so. I definitely _like_ him, but…" I swallow, searching for the right words. "It's not just him I'm attracted to," I finally manage, avoiding her eyes.

She doesn't take it the way I mean it, of course. "Rey, there's nothing wrong with bisexuality," she reassures, smiling softly at me, eyes crinkling. I think, for a moment, that this is weird – us opening up to each other the way we did the first night we met, only this time we're doing it because we _want_ to instead of because we have to. "It's not something you can control, and you know the others will accept you no matter what."

It's at this exact moment that a gaggle of football players rounds the corner, completely silent but all grinning. I narrow my eyes at them – I don't like the glint in their eyes – but Meg shakes her head, and I don't feel any monster vibes. I wish I had Antoine to sniff them out – but then, I wish I had Antoine for a lot of things.

It's only when the group has almost entirely passed that the very last guy coughs into his arm, "_Fag._"

I stop him with a hand on his shoulder and twirl him to face me; I'm fairly sure he isn't expecting my strength by his slack expression. "Excuse me," I say, working to keep my voice polite less for their benefit than for my own, "did you say something to me? I'm afraid I didn't hear you. If you were talking to me, you should've raised your voice."

To his credit, he doesn't back down, even with his team hooting and hollering behind him. "Yeah," he says, facing me squarely and puffing up his chest in an attempt to look more dangerous, "I did. I called you fag. You know what? Because you're a dirty, unnatural slag and a sin against God." He grins dangerously. "What're you gonna do about it, shortie?"

When he sees my expression he takes the coward's way out and hauls ass down the street, his friends jeering even as they follow his lead. I stand there for a moment, jacket-less, murderous, hands clenched into fists.

_Wrath_, I think, struggling to get a hold of myself. _Wrath is your fatal flaw control don't let it control you wrath hurt them kill them wrath you're being wrathful _stop.

"Rey – " Meg starts, though she halts suddenly.

I punch a wall.

Then I punch it again, and again, one hand at a time and then both hands at once. I punch it until all ten knuckles are stained red with blood and one of my fingers might be broken – not as badly broken as Meg's wrist was before the ambrosia perfected it, maybe, but broken enough that I'll need Hazel to help me out with it – and then I punch it a few more times for good measure. I can't tell you how long it takes me to finish, only that it's a long time and the sun is almost down by the time I finish.

I sink to the ground. I feel numb and overemotional and still willing to punch the wall eight billion more times if they'll let me.

Instead, I curl into a ball and cry.

I feel pathetic and stupid, but I can't help it. So much has happened in so little time – I could barely move for fear of attacking during the talk with Urania, and even before then I've been even easier to set off than usual. I've been on edge for a good portion of this adventure, and all it took was a comment from some stupid stranger I'll never see again and whose opinion has no bearing on my life whatsoever. I'm overwhelmed, and I'm sick and tired of being angry 24/7.

After a few minutes crying, I feel a pair of arms wrap around me from behind and Meg's body warmth encases me. She rocks me slowly, as if I'm her child, and she hushes me and sings quietly under her breath, a lullaby in Greek that I have no doubt she learned in her last life. Under her care, my strangled sobs turn to hiccups and then go completely silent, and slowly – painfully – I run out of tears.

She rubs soft circles into my upper arms, and between songs, she whispers in my ear, "Tell me when you're ready to go – but take your time."

I start to enjoy it. I start to enjoy being cradled by the girl with the lovely face and the angry words, and I start to enjoy being cared for and momentarily loved and told that it's okay, that she'll wait for me. I learn, in the space of less than an hour, how to love her voice, which is too throaty and scratchy to be pretty but which knows the songs well enough that they wouldn't sound natural coming from any other mouth. I start to snuggle closer to her body heat, her breath, her smile, her.

And that scares me. One impossible crush is enough.

(There's a reason I've shoved aside my feelings for so long.)

So just after I begin to enjoy it, I take a deep breath and make a move to stand; she automatically stumbles back and helps me up, arms out to catch me in case my legs give in on themselves, which – judging by the way the shake and shudder – they're fairly likely to do. We don't look each other in the eyes. I don't want to know her expression right now – but besides that, I don't think I need to look at her to understand.

"Let's go back," she says, tentatively touching my shoulder. I look up and nod, eyes softer than I'll admit out loud. I'm worried about Antoine and I have a broken finger and she's just seen me at one of my worst moments, but when we finally meet each other's eyes we both manage smiles. Her hand travels down the length of my arm to finally touch my own. I wrap mine around hers and intertwine our fingers.

We walk back holding hands. Nobody asks questions when we get there. We're both grateful.

For the first time in a while, I'm not angry.

+x+

_i cant escape myself  
so many times ive lied  
but theres still __**rage**__ inside  
somebody get me through this nightmare_

_**i cant control myself**_

+x+

**author's notes**

i have no idea what i ship

so many good ships. theyre my ot3 only ot3s usually dont become canon /sobs

in other news, i seriously did not expect this chapter to be as stupidly angsty as it is. im sorry, i swear it was reys fault for being overdramatic

also if this were homestuck rey would be a hero of rage y/y


	20. Kryptonite

XX: Rey

Kryptonite

I meet Urania for the second time when I run.

It's the first time I've stretched my legs since this adventure began, and I'm endlessly thankful for the opportunity – despite all of the exercise I've been forced into while fighting monsters, there's nothing quite like a 4-mile jog to get me pumped. Besides, I was starting to feel a little boxed in by all of those people. Sometimes, I just need time to be by myself – and after Leo had strapped a knife that I have no clue how to use in my belt, I was given the go ahead.

So I'm armed. I'm not dangerous. But most importantly, I'm running.

She meets me at two and a half miles.

She looks the same as she did last time – the long black hair, the seductive dress and the skin tight leggings – but something is different. Her eyes are softer, with a glint rather than a sparkle, and her guard seems down. I'm sure, of course, that she could still kill me with her godly powers, but she seems almost…sympathetic. Compelling, in ways that I can't begin to explain. I slow down.

She starts the conversation, which is nice because I never would. "Hello, Rey," she greets, voice flowing and smile soft. My hand goes to my knife automatically, even though I don't know the first thing about attacking with it. "Put that down," she chides. "I won't harm you. I'm only here to assist you."

"Assist, sure," I mumble, though I took out most of my anger out on the wall earlier; my voice sounds drained. I'm pretty tired, actually. "Does your method of 'assisting' usually involve provoking my friends until they try to attack you?"

"Megara King is a foolish girl," she says, shaking her head mournfully, "though I hope that with his mother's help, Antoine Faurote will learn some respect for those who are more powerful than he is."

"His mother?" I blink and stumble back, almost falling over in surprise. "You mean Antoine found his godly parent? Who is she? What's she the goddess of?"

Urania's eyes twinkle, like something I've said amuses her. "That's something he needs to come to terms with," she explains, "and part of coming to terms with it is being the one to tell you about it. Come – let's sit. With all of the information I'm giving you, it'd be best if there's no chance of you falling over from shock in the middle of it."

She gestures to a picnic table that either just got waved into exist or was simply hidden enough by the shade that I hadn't noticed until now. Reluctantly, I sit down, and she settles in across from me. _God hates baguettes_ is etched into the table right beneath my eyes. I wonder who would've written it for a moment before turning my attention back to more important things.

"So," I say, tugging thoughtlessly at the tag on my sneakers, "you want to…help, right? So where's Antoine?"

Her lips purse. I get the feeling this is not how she wanted the conversation to start. "I cannot tell you," she says, and I struggle to hide my disappointment behind a straight face. "He will reveal himself when the time is right – that is to say, he'll meet up with you at the wedding." Her smile twitches. "In fact, that's part of what I wanted to talk to you about."

"Wedding?" I demand, scowl deepening. I do _not_ need any more messed up romance in my life. "Who - ?"

"A man named Perseus Jackson," she says calmly, "and his betrothed, Annabeth Chase. The older members of your group know – ask one of them. I'm told that you've taken a liking to Leo." She pauses and her dress seems to shimmer, and for a moment I see a hundred billion tiny pinpricks of light – _stars_, I realize suddenly. "It will take place in a church in Manhattan in two days' time," she continues as if nothing happened. "You'll know the church when you see it. You will meet your allies – yes, and Antoine – there."

"_Two days?_" I demand, scowling.

"In the morning of the second day from now," she agrees, eyes glinting. "You will meet some very important people there – including a fellow mortal who will help you on your personal journey. It's very important that you be there. There is a prophecy that – " she halts, frowning. "Well. I cannot say. But as your patron, you should know that I have your best interests."

I frown at her. "You haven't been able to say that much," I point out, lips pursed. "What _can_ you tell me?"

"I can tell you the name of your enemy," she says immediately. "I can tell you about the people involved in the prophecy. I can tell you about Lonely Tylenol. I can tell you about the two camps – and I can tell you why Leonardo Valdez is an outcast among his own kind."

I stare blankly. I've known for a while that the Greek Camp on the east coast – Camp Half-Blood, I think – doesn't like Leo very much, but I've never had the courage to straight up ask him about it. It feels…wrong, to learn from Urania. But she's right. She's my patron, and I have to learn to trust her. "Lonely Tylenol?" I say instead, prolonging the inevitable question. "Meg mentioned that. It's a palindrome, right?"

"It's much more than a palindrome," she says, expression grim. "Megara King was right in that your brother and I – " Her voice falters. "However, palindromes are not why I fell in love with him. There is a reason she felt the need to mention them – because they were important. _Dog Sees God_ was not a phrase that made me think of Artemis. In fact it was – " She hesitates before plowing on. "It was the codename of a prophecy."

"Codename?" I feel shockingly calm in the face of this revelation, fingers tracing the word _baguettes_ over and over again. "You mean, like…how spy missions have titles, or how when Microsoft creates something they work under a code so people won't figure out how to hack into it before they can release it?"

"Precisely," she agrees, smiling softly. "Every prophecy has one – just an easier way for we immortals to keep track of them all. _Dog Sees God_ was actually the codename for a prophecy about a huntress that fell in love with a bear and bore its children. Even your friends' last prophecy has one – they called it the Prophecy of Seven, but we called it _Amore, Roma_. _Lonely Tylenol_ – "

"Is the name of our prophecy." I stare blankly. It begins to come together – but something nags at the back of my mind; how could _Iolaus_ have known all of this? "That's it, right? A bunch of us are meant to do something – and that's the codename for what we're meant to do."

"You are," she says, voice not nearly as numb as mine but certainly as calm. "Which leads me to the next topic I wished to discuss with you – the prophecy children and their patrons." She looks me dead in the eye, calmly. "Name what you wish to know about the members of the prophecy and I will do my best to answer."

"Who's involved?" I ask automatically.

Her eyebrows raise gingerly. "That's a strange question. Do you wonder who has a bearing on the outcome or who is specifically a part of the prophecy?"

"Who's a part of it," I decide after a moment of hesitation. "And – their patrons. Are the prophecy heroes the only ones with patrons?"

"Yes," she says automatically before moving on. "Leonardo Valdez, Nemesis. Franklin Zhang, Iris. Antoine Faurote, Nike. Yourself, myself." Her eyes twinkle before she moves on. "Piper McLean, Boreas. Reyna Basilia, Anteros. Hazel Levesque, Thanatos. Megara King, Moros."

"Anteros?" I find my voice rising without my permission and I quickly force it down, scowling at my own excitement. "Moros? What gods are – "

"Hush, child," she reprimands. "All will come in time. You are to meet Moros soon – if I'm correct, he is to be your ticket to the East, as well as one of your escorts to the wedding. Anteros…well, Reyna Basilia has had her own run ins with him in the past. If you ask, she may tell you. She may also run you through with a sword. I would suggest waiting for her to tell you rather than going to her first."

"Alright," I say, forcibly keeping my thoughts and voice even and stoic, though I suspect she sees straight through that. "You said something about…our enemy. Last time, you said you couldn't tell us, but if you could – "

"I _could_ tell you last time," she corrects, "I just decided not to. Antoine Faurote has discovered it without help, anyway. Her name – I know you recognize this, I suspect the myth has just been hidden in the back of your mind – her name is Metis."

I do know that name. I know Greek mythology pretty up and down after running from monsters with Antoine for nine years, and my heart sinks horribly. "You mean – " My throat closes. "She's escaped Zeus' body?"

"She took the form of a mortal woman," Urania mumbles gravely, "and tricked Zeus into lying with her once more. We may be gods, Rey Cabrera, but she is more powerful than us, with the capabilities to hide things from even my father, our king. She is pregnant with her second child – and she cannot be killed. The baby will be born, and through Olympus shall be lain to waste…or, if you eight succeed, it shall be saved." She cocks her head, face purposefully blank and observant. "You are, of course, given the option to reject your fate."

I think of Antoine. I think of Leo. I think of Meg, and Hazel, and everyone who has suffered so much before.

They're not regular people, demigods – or demititanesses, as it may be. They form bonds quicker. Fall in love faster. They're quicker to anger and quicker to forgive. They're versatile and varied, none of them quite the same – but each and every one of them _lives._

People will tell you that it's horrible to be a demigod – that it's dangerous and volatile, and that they would never wish it upon anyone. But I think that being demigod-ish is something very important, because I've never seen anyone live life to the fullest the way that they do.

"It's not even an option," I say, looking her dead in the eye. "I'm going to save them."

"I thought so." Her smile is soft and genuine. I hope she doesn't mention my brother; she manages to evade the topic by clearing her throat and forcing her voice to become businesslike once more. "Which brings us to our final topic."

"Leo," I guess.

She nods. "You see, the Greek and Roman camps haven't always been as friendly as they are these days. In fact, up until about five years ago, they were completely unaware of each other's existences. What brought them together was something called the Athena Parthenon."

I frown, tapping my shoe idly. "I thought the Parthenon was a building."

"It is," she agrees, nodding as if my point is hugely important. "But within was a giant statue of Athena, in her right hand a smaller statue of Nike, the goddess of victory. It was used to mend the bond between the camps and bestow peace to the two warring parties."

"Leo's a thief," I remember suddenly. My heart sinks.

She confirms my fears with a sympathetic expression. "A few months ago," she says, "right around the time that Leonardo Valdez and Nico di Angelo parted ways, the statue of Nike simply disappeared, and the goddess herself stopped visiting camp completely. She still has yet to be seen there, though I'm unaware of her reasoning for this."

I scowl. "Witnesses?"

"A few. Their mind was addled by mist." She shakes her head at me. "There's no way to prove his innocence – the only people who believed him were a few of his friends and most of the Romans, as their praetors were close to him."

I stare in disbelief. "They think," I say, just to clear things up, "that Leo stole the statue of Nike."

"It's worse than that." She watches me sadly. "They think he destroyed it."

+x+

_if i go crazy then will you still call me __**superman**__?  
if im alive and well will you be there holding my hand?  
ill keep you by my side with my superhuman might_

_**kryptonite**_

+x+

**author's note**

SO THERES THIS REVIEWER WHO SHOWED UP TODAY AND WAS LIKE "HEY IM GONNA REVIEW EVERY SINGLE CHAPTER"

AND I WAS LIKE "SWEET ILL TOTES MESSAGE YOU BACK FOR EVERY SINGLE REVIEW YOU LEAVE" ONLY THEN THEY ACTUALLY REVIEWED EVERY SINGLE CHAPTER AND I REALLY DIDN'T WANT TO SPAM THEIR INBOX

SO FF USER Iheartbd, I AM INDEED READING ALL OF YOUR REVIEWS, AND I DO ENJOY YOUR EXISTENCE IN GENERAL, AND IM SORRY I CANT RESPOND TO EVERY SINGLE ONE BECAUSE, LIKE. TIME CONSTRAINTS AND NOT LOOKING LIKE A STALKER

wow lots of caps, srry bout that guys, but the point is that i really do appreciate every review i get and im sorry i cant respond to all of you beautiful people and heres a second chapter today to make up for it. only five more left!


	21. Run Daddy Run

XXI: Meg

Run Daddy Run

"So," I say after Rey runs back and breathlessly explains his run-in with Urania, "Moros, huh?"

I'm uncomfortable in all the worst ways; I'm wearing Rey's hoodie, which he'd insisted I keep despite the fact that it's now eight in the morning and we'd been sleeping in an alleyway (for fear of attracting attention) – he's pretty stupid sometimes that way – and it feels awkward and heavy on my shoulders, never mind the weird fluttering feeling of my stomach when I think about it too much. With Antoine gone, I had become painfully aware while Rey was running how much _older_ than me everyone here is – sure, I've technically lived over one life already, but I'm still just a teenager. And on top of all that, there's been the offer from Nico earlier to consider; a way to show the others my past as well as another way to estrange me.

Now this – patrons. Some of them, I know – Rey with Urania and Leo with Nemesis are both 'no duh' situations at this point – but there are some gods I've never even heard of, unfortunately including my own. Even Reyna seemed to distantly recognize the name Anteros, albeit with a scowl on her face; I'm the only one completely in the dark.

"I've never heard of him, either," Rey comforts, a concerned frown on his face. "Listen, we can do a Yahoo! search on him if we need to. Besides, we'll meet him soon, anyway – Urania said he was going to be our way to the wedding." There's a small murmur of agreement from a few, though Jason still looks royally pissed at himself for forgetting about his supposed best friend's wedding. Rey and I offer each other weak smiles at the part about Yahoo!

_We'll see him in a couple of days,_ I remind myself. That doesn't make it any easier to stop worrying.

"Meg," says a throaty voice, and I look up to find Nico eyeing my a few feet away, smirking quietly. "I know I'm not one of the prophecy heroes," he says calmly, "but I'm hoping you'll have found it in your heart to trust me and think about what we talked about earlier?"

I survey him with a thin-lipped frown. After our talk, Hazel had taken me aside and told me the truth about his PTSD – that it came in attacks rather than as a 24/7 thing, and that if I decide to take him up on whatever he asks me about I should know that there's a good chance that he'll have one. I can't imagine cool, stoic Nico ever having anything remotely similar to a mental breakdown – especially know that he has his sword and looks 20 times more comfortable with himself – but I suppose that would only make the breakdown itself more terrifying.

I told her that I'd be careful – but I'm so tired of keeping secrets.

I nod tiredly before turning to Rey, fighting not to drop – it's been a while since I've gotten a full night's rest, and though I've been paying for it for the last few days it's hitting me even harder now. "I think that it's time we try to Iris Message Antoine," I say quietly. "I want him to see what's going on for this. It's important."

"I got it," Frank offers, stumbling to a stand just as Rey opens his mouth to respond. The praetor's jeans are covered in grass stains, even though we've only been sitting here for a few minutes. He gives us a small, crooked grin. "My patron's Iris. It doesn't matter whether Antoine gets talked to or not – he has to at _least_ listen."

I glance at Nico and he nods. I grimace before standing myself, blatantly refusing the hand Rey offers. "Alright," I say grimly, pulling the hood of the jacket over my head, "let's go summon some ghosts."

+x+

It takes us half an hour to dig the hole and forty-three dollars to buy all of the McDonald's Happy Meals, but in the end we make it at about eleven o'clock AM in an abandoned graveyard just on the outskirts of town. (The Segway Leo stole is completely in pieces by this point, of course.) I refuse to look anyone in the eye as Frank tosses a drachma and shouts Antoine's name.

We catch him at the worst possible time, of course – he's fallen asleep on top of an awkwardly bent log, one leg hanging over the side and the other tangled up in a vine of some sort. He looks like he's on the outskirts of a forest, right next to a playground. I let my eyebrows raise before I exchange a look with Rey, lean towards the image, and bellow, "_Wake the fuck up!_"

He starts awake, scrambling to keep his balance before falling off the side of the faux bench. He comes back up with some golden and red leaves intertwined hopelessly with his hair, even more ragged now that he's on his own. "What the Hades?" he demands, glaring at us each in turn. "What – "

"Where the _hell_ have you been?" My anger surprises even me. "We have been so fucking worried about you while you traipsed across the country on your own personal joy ride, you _selfish asshole_. What was so important you had to go solo to do it?"

He frowns at me. "I can't explain it," he says, shaking his head, "but shit went down. Now's not the time." He turns to scowl at Rey, effectively cutting off any of my arguments. "I can take care of myself."

"Believe it or not, we _aren't_ calling solely to check up on you. You remember that the world revolves around the sun and not you, right?" His voice is wry and teasing, but I suspect there's some relief beneath there that his best friend is neither dead nor in immediate danger. "Meg has some stuff she wants to show us."

I watch Antoine's fury fade, and he gives me an apologetic look that I'm pretty sure is sincere, though I do have my doubts. "Something you want to show us?" he asks, voice twanging of curiosity. I've forgotten about all of the others; right now, it's just the three of us. "Meg, you don't have to – "

"I want you," I cut him off, voice wavering in confidence even as I stare at him with steely eyes, "to meet my father."

"Meg." Nico's hand on my shoulder breaks the spell and I shake myself out of the trance, looking up at him calmly. "Are you ready?"

"As I'll ever be," I hum, and we turn to the buckets of unhealthy meat deliciousness. I can hear Antoine and Rey mumbling to each other behind me, but I don't pay attention; it's just me and Nico grinning at each other with a strangely small amount of awkwardness. "I say the first part, right?"

"And the parts of the chant you know," he confirms, opening three of the Happy Meal boxes and twisting the cap off one of the giant ass diet coke bottles, at least three liters each. We'd gone over this earlier, but I get the feeling that he usually does this by himself and the last thing I want is to mess it up. I take a deep breath and grab some of the boxes before moving to stand over the hole.

"Let the dead taste again," I murmur, feeling a strange mental power flow through my brain as I offer hamburgers to ghosts. "Let them rise and take this offering. Let them remember."

I empty all of the food and a couple of the soda bottles into the mock grave before Nico finally starts chanting. I pick at the parts that mention memories, which I seem to know by instinct, and that odd sense of power flows through me again. Before long, the pit begins to froth and slowly, the food and drink rise to form a strange sort of mush – and a single translucent figure rises in front of me.

I bow on one leg. Nico seems to recognize him, though he doesn't look at all surprised. Nor does Hazel; I get the feeling that they've had their suspicions for a while, as children of Hades and Pluto respectively. "Father," I great, voice more meek than I'd like to admit.

He surveys me stiffly before sighing with grudging admiration. "Rise, child," he rumbles, and I do. He looks exactly as I remember him, from the crinkly eyes to the fashionable old times outfit straight down to that odd goatee they never mentioned in the myths. "I see it's come the time for me to assist you. May I please…?"

"Go ahead." He relaxes and turns to drink eagerly from the pool, slurping it up with all the dignity of a dog. I turn to my friends hesitantly. "Guys – this is my…" My voice falters. "My dad. The Trojan, Paris."

There is a moment of shocked silence that, of course, Leo is the one to interrupt. "Holy _shit_," he whispers, staring blankly at me. "How - ? Wait. The gigantomachy – "

"The dead came alive for a short period of time," I remind them miserably. "My father was one of them. And he found my mother, and…" I clear my throat. "Well, Mnemosyne looks like however you have the strongest memories of."

There is a short period of silence before somebody else speaks up. "I was _there_ during the gigantomachy," Jason says, frowning. "We _all_ were. And I think we can all agree that it was only five years ago, right?" There's a murmured chorus of agreement. "So how are you 16?"

"It's because your mother is a Titaness, isn't it?" Maybe it's just to be on a side that isn't Jason's, but it's Piper who steps up, eyes gleaming. "She has powers beyond the gods – like adapting time and space to her command."

"Kind of like what happened to me," Hazel offers, though I don't know what that means.

My father stands back up, wiping food from his upper lip. When I chance a glance, Antoine is absolutely stupefied, staring blankly at me; on the contrary, Rey is watching my pensively, as if he isn't surprised in the least, which definitely surprises me. "There can be explanations later," Paris says, shaking his head at the elder demigods. "For now, you need my help – though it _is_ a pleasure to meet you all. Yes, even you, Faurote, though if I were you I would have a little more subtlety when watching my daughter." His eyes cross while Antoine visibly pales.

"Father," I interrupt before he can attempt to pull some wicked Greek moves and remember that he's a ghost who can't touch people, "what do you mean when you say that we need your help?" I'm careful to keep my voice cordial and professional – I've tried to pull the vulnerable sympathetic daughter act before, but despite everything Paris is a trained Greek soldier and warriors generally don't favor the weak.

His face clears. "Megara," he says clearly, turning to face me and completely blocking out everyone else, "I'm sure that by this point, you have heard of patrons – and of Lonely Tylenol, which, you must be aware, you are a part of. Your patron is a god named Moros."

My heart beats faster. "Yes, father?"

"Let me be blunt: you have no idea where to find him. You have never met him before – and he has his own reasons for that. But now is the time for you to meet him. I will give you markers to guide you to him." His lips twitch up. "You remember The Nightmare Before Christmas?"

I blush despite myself. "Oh my gods, if you messed with that movie – "

"Of course not." If my father weren't a stoic soldier, I'd think he might be grinning. "I've taken some of your old memorabilia and made the path with it. I hope you don't mind." He nods at Nico. "I'm ready to go back. There's a party in Elysium tonight that I don't want to miss."

Nico points his sword at him. "I release you." And just like that – _poof_ – he's gone.

My face is red. I'm really not looking forward to leading my friends along the path of silly childhood dreams.

I pretend I don't miss my dead father already.

"Alright," I say, voice cracking as I wave to Antoine, who nods dumbly before severing the connection, "let's go on a scavenger hunt."

+x+

_ive been gathering the pieces of all these shattered hearts  
i dont care where you go to, i dont care where you land  
just get out of there daddy as fast as you can  
daddy can you hear the devil drawing near  
like a bullet from a gun_

_**run daddy run**_

+x+

**author's note**

if i were you all i would be really sick of watching people just sit around and talk so much

in other news MY MOTHER BOUGHT ME THIRTY FEET OF BUBBLE WRAP TODAY

ALSO SIX THOUSAND MORE WORDS BUT IM GONNA WRITE EIGHT THOUSAND ANYWAY

I AM GOING TO FINISH A FUCKING NOVEL


	22. Gunpowder and Lead

XXII: Meg

Gunpowder and Lead

I almost lose it when we find the backpack.

It's just me and a grim looking Nico, the only person who had outright refused to let me go alone; everyone else, I think, was too in shock. (Except for Hazel, who is marginally more polite than her brother.) I'm not used to showing lapses in composure in front of people I don't know well, but I can't help myself when I squeal and dash forward.

It's always been my favorite of all the Nightmare Before Christmas merchandise I've gathered over time, but I'd lost it to a monster attack when I ran away from the orphanage. You can't even see where the claws mangled it, now, though – it's as good as new, with Jack's skeletal face grinning up at me through the cloth. Breathlessly, I stop just short of it, face splitting into a smile. "Oh my gods _yes,_" is all I can manage, eyes lighting up.

"We must be getting closer," Nico says as he jogs up, lips thin as if he's hiding a smile. I do my best not to turn red when I realize how mentally exposed I just was. "These things are getting bigger, and you seem to be enjoying them more."

I grimace sheepishly, suddenly aware of the Sally doll in my pocket that I couldn't bear to leave on the street and the countless other memorials I'd been loath to leave behind, though I'd managed somehow. "This one might be useful," I point out eagerly, working to keep my expression composed. "We can carry stuff in it. Also I will have Jack Skellington on my back again. Can we please take it?"

"You're the leader of this miniquest," he rumbles in amusement, "you can do what you want to." I hide my squeal and snatch up the backpack, loosening the straps so I can fit it on my back. It feels smaller than I remember it, but the feeling of having the skeletal face on my gives me confidence, even if I do feel a little silly.

It's been a while since I've seen the movie, I realize as we resume walking in the general direction we've been going in the entire time. I'll have to rent it (read: steal it) from somewhere soon, maybe get Aladdin or some other Disney movie and force Rey and Antoine into a movie night. I get the feeling they'd _love_ laughing at Hercules with me.

I almost stop short, eyebrows drawing together. Since when have I planned things to do specifically with other people?

Distracted as I am, it takes Nico putting his hand on my shoulder for me to notice the giant stone temple.

I stumble back and feel a few strange looks from the mortals on the street behind us; though what's in front of me could be a replica of the Lincoln Memorial – or, I realize suddenly, the Parthenon – the Mist probably makes it look like an office building or something ridiculous like that, so we're the ones who probably look weird for staring at it. "Thanks," I mumble. Nico shrugs good naturedly before letting his hand slide off my shoulder, taking in the temple with an apathetic expression and pursed lips.

"So," he says softly, "can you take it on your own from here?"

"I think I'll manage," I confirm, but before I can enter Nico grabs my arm and gently tugs me to face him, eyes dark and burning.

"Listen," he says, voice low and rough, "gods never give anything without sacrifice – it's the concept of balance, Greeks were crazy about it. I just…" He takes a deep breath. "Don't give up anything too important. Time, okay, we can't spare much of that, but it's better than – don't – don't offer anything that can hurt you, okay?" He watches me ferociously. "Promise. Please."

I think of Leo and Nemesis and the blood exchange.

I wonder what else Leo's given up for what they need.

(I wonder why Nico has PTSD before I stop myself.)

"I promise," I whisper, staring him straight in the eyes; I don't realize how tight his grip has become until he relaxes it and the blood flows back through my arm. He nods and stands up straight – a good foot and a half taller than me – before he melts in the shadows, probably back to our friends.

I take a deep breath and realize that, for the first time, being alone feels lonely.

Then I enter the temple of Moros.

+x+

I'll be honest when I say that the vases take me by complete surprise.

They're littered throughout the entire space of the room, lining the entire outskirts and then bursting inward. I count 42 before I lose track and give up, and there are still at least a hundred more where that I came from. I inch away from them, frowning at my own paranoia.

"I'm sorry," comes a quiet voice from behind me, and I jump. "I wasn't expecting visitors, or I would've tidied up."

I stumble forwards, eager to get away from the strange throaty voice that snuck up behind me, quickly turning with my hand on my switchblade just in case. It turns out that I don't need it – the man is the least imposing I've ever seen, with a pale face and a clearly malnourished boy, lips thin and almost white. He might be tall if he didn't slouch so much, but such as it is even Rey is probably taller than him like this; he's bony and completely lacking in muscle definition, and I seriously doubt he could lift a 10-pound weight, much less have godly powers. He's dressed entirely in black, a hoodie drawn over his head so that his eyes are hooded and colorless. "The mess is my fault," he says, voice still a hoarse whisper. "I was looking for a certain _pithos_ a few years ago. Someone else found it before me, unfortunately."

I stare blankly as he shuffles over to right one of the few fallen vases. "Are you…Moros?" I ask. I can't help myself; _this_ is the guy my life force is linked to?

"The god of doom, at your service," he says, clearing a small space. "Come, sit."

It feels strange to be with a god and not have a chair magically drawn from thin air for me, but I sit cross-legged on the floor a few feet across from him, shifting uncomfortably under his dark gaze. The silence flashes with the electricity of the awkward while maintaining the softness of the comfortable, a tense mixture that I have to break after a while. "It's…nice to meet you," I say hesitantly.

"No it's not." He watches the floor as he speaks; his voice never wavers in its apathy, and his frown never so much as twitches. "I'm afraid I'm a disappointingly useless god, as far as all the patrons go. Even Anteros does some good. I just tell people about their deaths."

I stare blankly and something crackles within me. "No," I say, eyes crinkling. "You're _perfect_ for the job of my patron."

He finally looks up; though his mouth doesn't move and his voice doesn't change, his eyes tighten marginally. "Excuse me," he says flatly, "I am absolutely certain that you are mistaken. I don't do things."

"You do enough," I reassure, leaning forward. I know that there are more important things, but he's my patron, and it's important to me that I get to know him – and this is an opportunity that I've been waiting for. "Please, sir – will you tell me about what happens to gods when they die?"

He scrutinizes me as well as he can without changing his expression. He hasn't blinked once the entire time I've been here. I should probably find that creepy, but somehow it just makes me feel safer – like he's watching out for evil or something. "How do you know that gods die?" he asks finally, watching me with measured curiosity.

I falter. "You mean – they don't?"

He shakes his head. "That is not what I meant, child. Everything dies, be they gods, humans, or anything in between. I simply wondered how you knew when you had yet to experience Lonely Tylenol yet."

I swallow and it's my turn to stare at the floor. "I was thinking," I say, drawing my knees to my chest, "about Hercules, and how he died before he became a god. And then I looked it up and supposedly Pan died – so I wondered, what happens if, for example, you shoot a god in the head? They can't just bleed. Something has to happen to them."

He hesitates, watching me carefully before deeming me ready for the response. "When gods die naturally," he says, as if he's a teacher and I'm his apprentice, "they simply fade from existence and become a part of the universe itself. When they are killed, they disperse – their essence itself is harmed. Much like monsters, they come back. But it is exceptionally harder to kill a god than it is a monster, and the concept of an essence is different for both of them."

I breathe a short sigh of relief. No danger yet, even if this Lonely Tylenol thing _does_ blow up in our faces. We sit in another pseudo-comfortable silence. I get the feeling he would be content to sit in it for hours, but I, unfortunately, am not so gifted. "So doom," I say awkwardly. "Does that go with anything, or…?"

He shrugs casually. "Depression," he says, and his eyes are back to the floor. "You could make an argument for love, too, I suppose. All of it is doomed to break-ups, divorce, or death."

"Wha – no!" I protest without thinking. He doesn't seem surprised, but I haven't seen him show emotion for much of anything, really. "I mean – my love for Iolaus is going to go through all of my lives until we're together, right? And then we'll probably end up in the underworld together. Love can be a forever, thing, too."

He waits a beat before he replies. "Do you know," he says, "that your father would have said the same thing? He was offered other things, you know – at the Trojan War, when he had to choose which goddess was most beautiful. Hera offered him all of Europe and Asia. Athena offered him the chance to never lose a fight again. But still, he chose love. Even in your first life, as the original Megara, you chose the man you loved over the men who would've brought you much more, without killing you in the process. And in this lifetime, you are no different." For the first time, his eyes gleam. "You are a strange girl, Megara. I am glad that I have the chance to be connected to you."

My eyes widen, and I quickly turn away to hide the scarlet rising on my cheeks. I'm in a room full of empty dreams and across me is the personification of doom itself – but strangely, I've never felt so safe. His expression is still apathetic, but something else is different – something about the atmosphere. It's no longer quite so charged.

"You came to see me for a reason," he says, and I suddenly wish I could help him to stop looking so miserably unopposed to everything. "I can grant you passage, but balance, as you know, is very important to the Greeks. What do you have to offer, Megara?"

_Don't offer anything that can hurt you, okay?_ I remember. My stomach flips.

I offer the one thing that we don't have enough of, but which can't hurt me if it tried. "Time," I say, staring him straight in the face.

He ponders this before nodding. "Almost a day will be taken from the lives of each friend that travels," he warns gravely. "You will arrive with only one hour and forty five minutes until the wedding. I can, of course, arrange clothes before you get there – a meeting present, if you will." His eyes soften.

I nod and he extends his hand – but I hesitate before I shake it. "One more thing," I say, leaning forward. "These vases – what did you say earlier? The _pithos_ – what were you looking for?"

He looks straight at me. "Hope. Perhaps you will help me find it."

I take his hand and for the first time, I see pride in his eyes as he watches me.

"Fuck them up for me, Megara."

I'm completely taken aback for a moment – but slowly, I smile. "I'll give them Hades," I promise.

Doom has rejuvenated me. Don't ask me how.

I am ready to kick some monster ass.

+x+

_im going home gonna load my shotgun – wait by the door, light a cigarette  
he wants a fire – well, now hes got one; he aint seen me crazy yet  
slapped my face and shook me like a ragdoll, hope that sounds like a real man  
__**im gonna show him what a little girl's made of**_

_**gunpowder and lead**_

+x+

**author's note**

you know what would be REALLY ironic

if a child of the titaness of memory got amnesia

just saying

also TECHNICALLY LESS FOUR THOUSAND MORE WORDS LEFT SCREEEEAMS


	23. Hero

XXIII: Antoine

Hero

"That," I say, watching where the dust would settle if the Iris Message had been made of something substantial, "was fucking messed up."

_Says the boy with a monster in his head_, Molpe chastises. I make a face and brush some of the leaves out of my hair; they cling awkwardly to my scalp and refuse to come out with a simple brush. I don't know how I fell asleep here – I was looking for some monsters to fight so Molpe would _teach_ me shit, but so far it's a no go. I'm sick of wandering on my own. Weird as it was to see them again, I'll admit it; I miss my friends.

_I'm dangerous_, I remind myself. _I'm a liability to them until I figure this out._ It's hard to forget I'm an outlier with Molpe – I mean _Mom_ – constantly rambling in my head, but it's easy to forget how volatile my powers are. I didn't know it before, but now that I'm aware of it I feel them, the same way Nico explained that your powers (and scent) get stronger when you realize that you're a demigod. It burns. It _hurts._ And I'm not letting myself take it out on them.

I hit the sidewalk walking, taking my sweet time; I don't smell anything dangerous nearby, and even if I did my rifle is still strapped to me, awkwardly half-dangling from my pocket despite being twenty times too big for it. I'm still not completely comfortable with it – I prefer the less weighty pistol I had back at Abattoir Academy, and I still feel guilty for stealing this from the random college dorm room (and their eggs) – but a gun is a gun, and after having this one for a few days and doing fine I'm not in any position to complain.

The sun is hot on the back of my neck; the weather's been completely unpredictable for the last few weeks. Rey tells me it's global warming, but the environment is a lot like rabid Twilight fans – I know that it exists and it's a problem, I just haven't found any reason to get involved yet (or ever). I'm the same way with politics, though I do admit to having some semblance of an opinion there.

_Interesting though your liberality is, you should probably walk around the dead dog,_ Molpe grumbles in my head, and though I've never met her in person I can practically hear her scowl.

I stop short; now that I think about it, I could probably smell the dog from a mile away. It's just like the others we've found, its guts strewn across the sidewalk and its ribcage ripped apart. "Who the Hades keeps doing this?" I demand, scowling.

_Well, your power needs _some_ sort of outlet_, Molpe grumbles as if it's the only logical explanation. _If you won't let it go while you're awake, then you'll just let it go when you're asleep_.

I stumble away from the dog's body, stomach churning. I taste vomit on the back of my tongue before I swallow heavily and turn to walk the other way.

My path is blocked by a ghost.

I blink, breathing through my mouth to alleviate the smell but unable to help the breath that I suck in surprise; the man is like one of those guys you see at country clubs who don't quite know why they've been invited there but are _really fucking excited_ to try the giant slide anyway. A child who happens to be upper class at the same time – though I can't seem to focus in on any details, it's a bit surreal.

He stares at me with no regard to the way I shift uncomfortably. "Um, hi?" I offer, grimacing sheepishly.

He starts, blinking. "What – you can see me?" he demands, lips pursed. He doesn't seem to be scowling (or at least I think he isn't – I have trouble seeing him clearly when I look straight at me), but confusion is evident as he crosses his arms and taps his foot against the ground, even though he…doesn't…_have_ a foot?

I'm the illegitimate child of a Greek monster and a French serial killer. I really don't have much room to judge people, I guess. "Yeah, I can see you," I shrug, studiously ignoring Molpe screaming me into a migraine while I give him a hesitant. "Is that odd…?"

He studies me for a moment before he relaxes, face clearing. "Oh, I see," he says calmly, and though I still can't look him in the face it's getting easier to make out details on his shirt. "You are the son of Thierry." He studies me for a moment before turning and gesturing for me to move. "Come. Walk with me."

I don't see much of a choice, and – still tuning my mother out as if I'm already an expert – I jog to catch up with his already disappearing form, slowing to a quick trot as we walk beside one another. "So," I say, working to keep my hands from fidgeting and to stop the awkwardness from seeping into my voice, "what – I mean, who are you?"

He doesn't look away from the road ahead of us. "I am Iphitos, the son of Eurytes, the brother of Iole, Clytius, Toxeus, Deioneus, Molion, and Didaeon. As to what I am…I admit, I am unsure. My best guess is that I am a soul whose body never received the proper burial, and so I am damned never to find my way to the Underworld until I am given an honorary funeral of some sort. Another likely option is that I am one of the souls from the Fields of Punishment, and my punishment is to wander the earth and never be seen by mortals." He glances at me, though his head jerks forwards so quickly it's as if he never looked at all. "Except, of course, yourself."

I frown and almost trip before catching myself, gritting my teeth. "And…you know who I am?"

He smiles grimly. "_Everyone_ knows who you are, Antoine. You are, of course, the intended leader of Lonely Tylenol."

I stop short, staring blankly at him. "Excuse me?" I demand, scowling; about five seconds later he seems to realize I'm not next to him and turns, surprise written on his face. "_Leader_? No fucking way. I'm one of the 16-year-olds – and I'm not even the kid of a god, and – wait, what the _fuck_ is Lonely Tylenol?"

He seems to decide that my last question is most important; he explains it patiently while I watch. Molpe has finally gone quiet and I relax my scowl and stance now that the headache she caused is starting to fade. "The eight of you are destined to go on a quest to defeat an evil that you have, I feel sure, already unearthed." My heart sinks. So it _is_ Metis. "You are destined to lead this quest."

"No, I'm not," I argue, cheeks puffing out as I glare at the ground. Sure, the Lonely Tylenol thing – yeah, it makes sense, and yeah, it's worrying. And with Nike as my patron and a gun at my side? I have _no problem_ going up against some dangerous half-gods and monsters (even if they are 'family'). But _lead_ them? Be responsible for their wellbeing and survival? No way. "Jason is a son of Jupiter – he's like, unofficial leader already. And even if he wasn't, I'm one of the youngest. I'm not even the most powerful."

"This is untrue." He cocks his head to gaze at me, something between amusement and interest flashing across his face. "Perhaps you are not the most powerful, but you are more powerful than some of your fellow heroes. There are powers from your mother's side that you have yet to unlock. The power of your voice, for example, though the child of Aphrodite may help you with that. Your power of the heart, too, is important, though the mortal child of the metics will be of assistance to you there."

"I keep hearing the word _metic_," I grumble, struggling to hold to my grumpy exterior. It doesn't work. Seriously, how the Hades does Rey manage to be angry for weeks at a time? "Ignoring that I'm not meant to be a leader – because I'm _not_ – what does that mean?"

It's a distraction and he knows it. I'm not comfortable thinking of myself at the head of things – I'm a 'brain over brawn' kind of guy; 'take charge and lead the way' has never really appealed to me. Besides, I don't _lead_ people. I wouldn't say I'm passive, but I've always allowed people to take the lead when they want it. Sure, I take charge with Rey, but that's because the guy has no sense of self-preservation – he _needs_ somebody to stop him from throwing himself at every obstacle that comes his way. I only lead Meg because she _wants_ me to; I have no doubt that if she decided to lead the group, she could kick my ass anytime.

He seems to realize my train of thought, because he rebuts my question before changing the subject back. "You would do well to invest in a dictionary, Antoine," he advises, failing to hide a crooked smile. "I have heard that they are useful when one wishes to keep up with the times. You _are_ a leader, by the way, no matter how you doubt it."

"I'm not stronger than them," I protest. "They could easily lead me."

"They will not, though." His blank eyes gleam, and for the first time I am afraid of the dead. "Leadership is not about being the strongest or wisest of the group you have gathered. Leadership is when they trust you with their lives despite this and you are willing to accept this trust."

"How would you know?" I ask; it's more of a thought that happens to fall from my mouth than it is a question or a demand, but it's too late to take it back. He considers it seriously for a moment, lips pursing before his face and body both relax and he finds his answer.

"Once," he says calmly, "I met a man who considered himself to be a leader. He fell in love with my sister, Iole, and attempted to woo her through a contest; however, he was expelled. You see, he had a reputation as a dangerous man prone to fits of insanity. He had even killed his wife and children at one point." He clears his throat and continues. "I believed that this man deserved a second chance; I was not willing to judge him by his reputation."

My heart sinks. I have the horrible feeling that I know who Iphitos is talking about, and I don't like it. "I offered him a chance to help me in order to prove his worth," he continues, voice and expression growing darker as time passes. "The horses of my father had escaped, you see – I had reasoned with him that should he return with them, unharmed, my father would see him for the hero he was rather than the memories that plagued him and his reputation." He turns to stare at the ground. "While we searched, he had a…a seizure, I believe they would be called nowadays. He threw me over a wall."

There is a beat of pure silence. "They never found my body," he finally whispers, finally turning to face me, a ghost of a sad smile painted on his face.

"Do not be like this man, Antoine," he warns, floating closer and gazing at me softly. "He was foolish to believe that he could lead without control of himself. It's important for leaders to show restraint, not only in themselves but in their violence, as well." I can finally look him in the eyes. They're gold, I find. They're beautiful. And they make me want to cry. "When you lead Lonely Tylenol, please remember my warning; mercy is one of the most important things you will ever find."

I swallow. My mouth feels dry. Slowly, I open my mouth to speak.

Then the building next to us explodes.

+x+

_ive gotta fight today to live another day  
speakin' my mind today - (my voice will be heard today)  
ive gotta make a stand but I am just a man  
(im not superhuman)_

_**my voice will be heard today**_

+x+

**author's note**

ANTOINE is the leader? oMG PLOt TWIST DID YALL SEE THAT COMING

but srsly, part of the fun with the antoine-meg-rey trio was that i purposely messed up their standings. while jason-piper-leo are basically the 'hero-team heart-sidekick' perfect example, the ocs mess it up; if it weren't for patrons, it would be rey-hero meg-team heart Antoine-sidekick, but such as it is its Antoine-hero rey-team heart meg-sidekick, which i just think is really fun

I HAVE MORE THAN 48000 WOOOOORDS


	24. Monster

XXIV: Antoine

Monster

I follow my instincts, which say to roll away from the debris, head cradled by one hand with the other outstretched to try and help Iphitos to safety, too. It takes my hand going straight through his waist and him shaking his head sadly for me to remember that he's insubstantial; I hesitate but get out of the way anyway, only coming to a stand when I was well out of the way. I turned quickly to find –

Wait.

Why is there a pig rocketing through five-story buildings?

It looks like a male, though I'm not willing to move closer to check; its tusks are easily the size and thickness of my thighs, and it snarls angrily, shaking its head before looking up to oink at me. "Shit," I hiss, backing up; I trip over my own feet and end up on my ass, staring wide-eyed and paralyzed. It tosses its head one more time and charges.

I can't beat it, I realize. I am going to die.

_No_, Molpe tells me, suddenly breaking her silence. _You're not_.

Just like that I'm up again, though this time my knees are bent and my stance is relaxed; I wait and wait and then, when it's close enough to rip my leg off, I grab it by the tusks and throw it over my head. It squeals as it hits the pavement with a loud _thud_, swiveling around on its back as it desperately thrashes.

"What is this thing?" I demand breathlessly while I swivel to face it; it finally regains its footing, shaking off the pain before preparing to charge again.

_The Erymanthian Boar_, Molpe says; she speaks (thinks?) faster than usual, and I have to work to keep up with my own mind. _He was a terror back in the day. Hercules beat him for his Fourth Labor – nobody's defeated him since._

"Well, fuck," I mumble under my breath as it comes back swinging. This time when it's almost open me I roll out of the way, grabbing one of its tusks as I go and pulling as hard as I can; with a mighty roar from the boar and a clear _snap_, I'm holding the severed bone in my hand, staring in awe. The boar runs clear to the corner of the road before scratching to a stop, nostrils flaring.

_You can beat it_, Molpe encourages as I back up slowly, hoping to just walk away from the fight – though that possibility disappears when it comes out fighting. _I would not allow you to fight anything I don't think you're ready for. I believe in you._

"How do I know if I can trust you?" I ask desperately as my plan fails and the beast comes charging – hopefully for the last time. I don't say it out loud, but I get the feeling she knows what I'm thinking anyway: she's a monster and she hates me – why would she want to keep me alive?

_Even Metis will care for her son, boy. Just because I'm a monster doesn't mean I can't feel human._

I sidestep again, though the pig anticipates it and dashes slightly in that direction; just as it skirts past me, ready to run me over with its hind legs, I dig its tusk into its side. With an outraged squeal, it becomes nothing but dust and one leftover tusk.

I pick it up. I feel numb – I have a headache and gun that feels strangely useless strapped to my side and a bad idea and a _mother._ Of course, I'd known before that we were blood relatives, but I hadn't quite understood until this point that she might _care_ about me – I don't want to sound conceited, but what else does she have to love?

I'm pretty sure you're not supposed to get fond of the voices in your head. I'll have to work on that (not).

I decide to do the only reasonable thing: distract myself. "Why didn't the tusk turn to dust?" I ask with a frown; I get the feeling she's happy for the change in subject, too, because my minor headache seems to let up.

_It's a spoil of the war_, she explains. Over the last day, I've stopped asking how she knows things. The answers are always convoluted and usually end with the word 'magic.' _You get to keep it as a memory of your victory._ When she speaks again, she sounds mildly impressed. _Where did you get the strength to tear off the boar's tusk? It was ingenious. I've only heard of the strategy used by the very desperate or – well, you'll meet him soon enough._

"Him?" I ask aloud before I startle. "Hey, wait! Where's – "

_Iphitos left while we were fighting_, she says impatiently just before the sound of sirens fills the air. _I think that that's our cue to leave, Antoine, unless you _want_ us to get captured and sent off to jail._

It takes me a moment to realize what the sirens are and what they want to do. It feels like I've been running from the police a lot, lately. I look up at the torn building, gun heavy on my back and tusk even heavier in my hand. "Was anybody hurt?" I ask, scrutinizing it; half of it is completely blown off, and chunks of it have flown across the street onto the sidewalk.

_ The humans are fine,_ she grumbles, and I can tell she's resisting the urge to scream at me to make me leave. _Lucky, too. The monster must've been attracted to your scent – if it hadn't gotten through the empty warehouse, who knows how many people it would've killed._

I look up in horror. I hadn't realized it, but nearby is a school, fourth graders peeking out their windows curiously as the squad cars come closer. Across the street is a library, though the librarian hadn't so much as glanced from her work the entire time I fought the boar. I watch all of the lives pass around me – human beings, normal, powerless.

Beautiful, though. Don't let anyone tell you that being a demigod is better than being a mortal because mortals are beautiful things in their own right.

And I had almost destroyed some.

"It's my fault," I whisper, stumbling back.

_It's my fault_.

I'll be back, I silently promise Iphitos. Nobody deserves to roam the earth for thousands and thousands of years. I'll find him. I'll find a way to give him a proper burial; if need be, I'll tear down a warehouse.

_It's my fault_.

I can't run away fast enough.

+x+

I spend thirty minutes ignoring Molpe's complaining before she gets the worst of it out of her system, and by that time I've reached the other end of town (via magicks and stuff; spending a day with my monster mother has had its uses, believe it or not). _What are you looking for?_ she demands, though even she sounds tired by now; we're both ready to fall down and take a nap for a couple of hundred years, and personally I am in _deep_ need of rapping. But I know there's somebody that I need to find, and I know where to look.

The town fitness center is on a hill, which makes my struggling to get to it horribly ironic in all the ways that make my muscles hurt. By the time I've reached the top I've used every swear I've ever heard of and some that Molpe has only just told me about while I walk, and I hope to the gods that I'll be able to at least sit down for a while. The building, thank god, looks like the perfect reprieve; modern and covered in glass; I can clearly see a resting area in one of the corners.

I stumble in, the doors closing automatically behind me; screamo is playing on the speakers. Apparently this is more motivating than it sounds because only a couple of people had brought earplugs or iPods, including a blonde woman with gleaming blue eyes that looks more like an Olympic athlete than anyone else here. I recognize her instinctively – and so does Molpe.

_Goddess,_ she hisses. _It's the goddess who cut me off from talking to you in a dream. If you talk to you, then you're a complete idiot._

"It was important that she talk to me," I mumble under my breath. "Stop making me speak to you. People are going to think I'm insane."

She grumbles and calls me a few names that would undoubtedly be scathing if I only knew Greek, but eventually she recedes into whatever hole she came from. I drag myself over to the elliptical the woman is on and peer over her shoulder, noting the slits in her t-shirt and the wings that spread behind them. The mortals, I decide , probably think it's just a part of the shirt. I glance at the machine itself. The time says 243 minutes, 57 seconds.

"Hey, man," she greets, and she doesn't sound breathless at all. She slows and finally comes to a complete stop, stepping out of the footholds to face me, grinning cockily and putting her hands on her hips. "I was gonna go a lot longer than that," she continues, "but if you ready, I'm cool."

"You were waiting for me?" I asked, fighting to keep the amusement out of my voice. I noticed that once again she's decked out like a walking advertisement; for the first time, I notice a _Just Do It_ tattoo on her waist. I wonder how I missed that last time. "I'm honored. The CEO of Nike – I could swoon."

Nike winks at me and moves to grab a towel casually slung over one of the handholds, rubbing the few beads of sweat off her face before hanging it around her neck. "Don't give yourself too much credit, bro," she snorts as we stalk toward the fountain, she purposely shortening her stride to let me catch up with her while I drag along. "It happened to be time for my work out. You were a pleasant coincidence."

"Sure, keep telling yourself that." She laughs. I don't know how I'm managing to keep up the sarcasm while I'm ready to drop on the plush carpet while some ridiculously angsty song plays in the background, but somehow I manage, smirking wearily at her. "You gotta learn, all the ladies love me."

"You're _such_ a pimp, Antoine. Here, can I feel your muscles while you tell me about your latest touchdowns?" She flutters her eyelashes sarcastically at me. "Sorry if I can't keep up. I'm just a blonde, you know?"

I choke on my laughter, and she grins as we finally reach the wall and the water fountain. She leans down and takes a long drink; I resist the urge to dunk her head in the water, and by the time I finally summon the energy to lift my hand do it she's moved away and gestured me to it graciously. I almost fall into it (which is really disgusting – did you know that there are exactly seven colors of gum in this thing?) before I manage to hold myself upright.

When I finish I wipe my mouth and straighten to find her staring at me, chewing her lip thoughtfully. I don't move. I know that I've only met Nike once before, but something about me makes feel comfortable – I understand her even better than I understand Rey. It probably has something to do with us being patrons I don't know.

"We need to go to New York," she says, interrupting the comfortable silence. "There's a wedding we need to be at. We'll meet the others when we get there – trust me, you have enough self-control to meet them." Her eyes soften.

I'm tired as argument. "Explain on the way there. After I nap."

She snorts and offers an arm to me; I link them up gladly, and we march out looking the classiest couple since Romeo and Juli-fucking-et. "Come on, you douchebag," she says, eyes gleaming. "We need to get you a tux."

+x+

_so stay away from me – the beast is ugly  
i feel the rage, and i cant control it make it end  
i feel it deep within its just beneath the skin  
i must confess that i_

_**feel like a monster**_

+x+

**author's note**

so close

guys theres only oNE MORE CHAPTER WEVE HIT 50000 WORDS WERE ACTUALLY DOING THIS


	25. Citizens of the World

XXV: Rey

Citizens of the World

We meet Antoine at the edge of Manhattan, next to an ocean that stinks of pollution and toxins. I elbow Leo in the stomach as he fidgets nervously with the bow Moros had bestowed upon him; I'm in a noose-like tie and about to see the guy that I have a major crush on, and you don't see me floundering around like a preteen girl (even though Leo is finally catching Nico's eye for the first time since we met up).

We all look fabulous; despite a proclaimed hatred for anything that makes her look attention seeking, Piper definitely looks the most glamorous in a long, strapless pink dress that she keeps adjusting and muttering under her breath about. Next to her, Hazel looks plain, though on her own she's pretty in a simple way; her dress is similar to Urania's, but she doesn't have the cosmos leggings to compliment it. Gods know why, but Reyna's in a suit; every so often Frank, in the exact same outfit (all of the guys have similar clothes), will nudge her and she'll snort under her breath.

And Meg. Gods, Meg looks gorgeous, with crystal earrings that she works not to fidget with and a short purple dress with puffy sleeves. It's unfittingly girly but appropriate, somehow, and she looks comfortable in it. The Jack Skellington backpack looped over her shoulders is a little out of place, but none of us have questioned it. The look in her eyes warns us against it.

Meg and I have our fingers intertwined. Nobody questions that, either. (Not even us.)

My first instinct when we see Antoine is to sprint over and tackle him into a hug, and I can tell it's Meg's, too, by the way her hand tightens against mine, but Leo's hand on my shoulder stops me and we all come to a halt. A woman is strutting along next to Antoine, one arm loosely wrapped around his shoulder and the other high in the air as she flashes us a peace sign. Leo goes pale.

"You okay?" I whisper under my breath, nudging him with my shoulder, but he just shakes his head. _Later_, I figure. _Now's not the time._

We wait until the pair are exactly 100 yards away from us before anyone says anything. "_Di immortales_," Piper demands under her breath, "what the Hades are they wearing?"

I try to hold in my laughter now that I look at them; while all of we men had been dressed in fashionable black suits and ties (except Leo, who had been given suspenders, a bow tie, and a fedora), Antoine's suit is bright yellow on the edges and beneath the overcoat, gleaming almost mockingly beneath the sun. The woman is dressed in what looks like a belly dancer's clothes – also yellow – which shows off the tattoo on her side and don't seem to hinder the angel's wings on her back.

The woman leans over and whispers something in Antoine's ear, waggling her blonde eyebrows; he snorts, eyes crinkling. Something in me twists.

They come to a stop within walking distance and for a moment the two groups stare at each other breathlessly, like a face-off of respect. Antoine – being Antoine – doesn't notice it, and – also being Antoine – breaks the silence without even thinking. "This is so unfair," he complains lightly, picking at the fabric on his shoulder. "Why am _I_ the only one who looks like a walking duck?"

"I'll say," Meg volunteers; her hand is squeezing mine so tightly it almost cuts off the blood circulation, but that's okay because mine is doing the same. "You almost blinded me on the way over here."

He grins crookedly. "I blind you with my beauty no matter what I'm wearing, doll."

Her hand relaxes in mine. We swing them back and forth together, slowly. At the moment, the goddess – and it's definitely a goddess next to Antoine, if the whiteness of Leo's face is anything to judge by – and the other demigods don't exist; it's a mortal and a demititaness and a child of gods know what god, and we are complete. Our swinging arms bring his gaze to our interlocked hands, though, and his face darkens. We both retreat as if burned.

That breaks the spell. "Nike," Jason says, stepping forward and bowing, expression awed. Everyone follows suit except me and Meg, who exchange grimaces and shrugs. "It's an honor."

"Flattery doesn't buy you anything," Nike says, though she looks a mixture between amused and flattered. "Go ahead and rise. Man, I haven't gotten that much respect in _ages_. You're alright, dude."

If Jason had been shocked before, he looks like he's about to faint when she gives him a high five. He begins to stammer his way through something that will probably be inarticulate at best when Leo shoves him aside with no regard to the way Piper glowers at the blonde. "He's Roman," the Latino man offers helpfully.

"I'm aware," Nike reassures, eyes twinkling. Antoine winks at me and Meg, apparent anger at our 'relationship' gone. I still badly want to hug him, but it can wait. After the wedding. Speaking of which – "Do you all know where the church is? Because I have no fucking clue."

The only person who looks surprised at a goddess cursing is Jason, who continues to babble quietly to himself; Hazel steps up, giving her ex-praetor a wry look. "It's about five minutes' walk from here, milady," she says, and for the first time since I've met her she looks…_confident,_ and extremely comfortable with herself. For the first time, I wonder just how many people know Perseus Jackson and Annabeth Chase.

"Sweet." Nike grins and bows out of the way like a butler. "Lead the way!"

It's like we've been given permission to scream at each other; suddenly _everyone _is talking and walking and jostling and laughing, and I only barely manage to grab Antoine by the arm while Meg and I link hands again. "Hey, man," I greet, smiling a little; it feels odd on my face. "Walk with us?"

He watches us uneasily, eyes going from our faces to our hands. "I don't want to intrude," he protests.

My face burns. I can't look at Meg if I try. "It's not like that," I mumble, keeping my eyes carefully diverted from both of them.

"Still just friends," Meg adds over the top of my head; she sounds just as embarrassed as me, though her hand isn't shaking nearly as much as mine.

Regardless, Antoine relaxes and we fall back a few feet behind everyone. It's the first time we've all three been together in a few days, and the first time we've just gotten to hang out and act goofy _ever._

The walk goes by way too fast, between Meg's dry wit and Antoine's quick jokes and me laughing so hard my sides start to hurt. We're all holding hands, just like we did ages ago at Piper's dorm in Kansas. We reach the church – a small, run down place with eighteen million cars lining down the street in front of it – and my smile fades as our arms stop swinging and the talk goes from idle to nonexistent.

"This is it," I mumble. Antoine and Meg squeeze my hands at the same time. I wait a moment and then let go, and all of our hands drop. Piper and Hazel quietly obsess over each other's appearance, Reyna and Frank argue over something stupid and try to keep themselves from just giving up, Jason nervously asks Nico to redo his tie because _somehow_ it came undone – and Nike and Leo both head over.

Nike makes it first; she adjusts Antoine's bow some and then taps him on the nose. He wrinkles up his face and she snorts, making a face at him. "They're seeing me for the first time in a long time," she mumbles just loud enough for me to hear, breath fanning outwards as she adjusts the golden cuffs on his sleeves. "We'll be the sign of a new era. We're in the front. Better be prepared, little leader. Up to the challenge?"

"I can do it," he confirms, smiling crookedly at her.

She grins. "That's the spirit!" I don't notice Leo until both of his hands are on my shoulders, and I look up to find him only a step away.

"Hey," he mumbles, smiling tentatively at me. "Ready?"

"As I'll ever be." I watch him curiously. It occurs to me suddenly that the camp that hates him is probably in there – he's probably risking his life to go in and help us out with this. I'm strangely touched. "You don't have to do this if you don't want to, you know."

He shakes his head, fedora almost falling off his untamed curls; after adjusting it, he tells me what's on his mind. "If there's one thing I've learned, it's that sacrifice and duty are the two most important things in the world." If I'm not mistaken, he glances at the still fake-arguing Reyna and Frank. "A good friend taught me that."

I study him for a moment. The weariness in his eyes doesn't fit his smile or his stance or his anything. If you just look at his eyes, you'd think he himself is a god – powerful, deadly, but endlessly tortured by the demons of his past.

I throw my arms around his neck and pull him into the tightest hug I've ever given; he stumbles but manages to keep standing. After a moment, he hesitantly circles his arm around my waist. "Thanks, _hermano,_" I say under my breath without thinking.

He tenses and I mentally curse myself. _Hermano._ I called Iolaus that – it's a special name, one that I keep reserved for someone as special as he is, and more so than anyone else.

It takes me a moment to realize what I'm afraid. It's not that Leo isn't one of the most unique people I've ever met, because I _know_ that. It isn't that I don't know if he's important enough to me, because I'm certain of that, too. What I'm afraid is that he doesn't think of me as the family I think of him to be.

Slowly, his grip on me relaxes, and he whispers in my ear, "Anytime, _mijo_."

_Mijo_, short for _mi hijo_. Spanish for _my son._

I try my best not to cry.

We pull apart and find everyone gathering in pairs; Meg and Nico have their heads bent together and are discussing some serious business while Antoine grins sheepishly at me from the front, Nike winking over his shoulder. Leo and I hurry to take our places as the second pair, exchanging weak grimaces that don't actually regret anything, as far as I can see.

I take a moment to mentally overview the heroes, and I realize that we're actually nothing really special. Antoine's no Hercules. Leo's no Archimedes. Despite everything, Meg's no Megara and Jason's no Jason – and I'm definitely no Iolaus.

But we're together. We're not The Heroes, but we _are_ heroes, and we're going to save the world without it wants us to or not.

Slowly, Antoine opens the church door.

+x+

_i am not an Athenian or a Greek, but a citizen of the World._

_- Diogenes_

+x+

**author's note**

YUP IM ACTUALLY ENDING HERE

you don't even get a prophecy

BUT GUYS I JUST WROTE 52000+ WORDS OF PJO FANFICTION SCREEEEEEEEAMS

ill probably come back to this at some point in the future, maybe in a few months. for now, though, its marked as complete


End file.
